Ashes to Ashes
by miethra songweaver
Summary: AU. ryoma is the protege of fuji, the best in a criminal organisation the good guys are after and life is pretty good. but soon conflicts will arise and all hell will break loose. and they'll burn themselves if they arent careful. [various pairings]
1. zero: candlewick

disclaimer: i dont own PoT. really i dont.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

**Zero: Candlewick**

It was always dark and smoky where they lived, all the three apartments they had stayed in over the years. No lights; they were too dangerous. When you took lives as easily as snapping your fingers, you started to take more care with your own. The more you killed the more careful you became; you knew better than anyone else how fragile human life could be.

There were candles though, just in case, both the normal white ones that you could easily get in bulk at any grocer's and the scented ones that came in various colours. The boy wondered idly why they had even bothered with those when the white ones worked just fine, spacing out as he watched the bright candle flame dance to his breath mere centimeters from his face. He watched, waiting patiently for his mentor to come back from yet another assignment that he could not take part in.

_Flicker, flicker._

He could see the wick slowly turning black when he was this close, writhing and twisting. Sometimes he wondered if it was in pain; he had seen people burn before and they moved in the exact same way, screaming most horribly right before they died. But it had been beautiful, the grotesque contortion of the body and purest emotion stark on the face, the dying; there was nothing more sensual than the last struggle right before total oblivion. His mentor called it art; he had been the one who taught him to enjoy it. He had been the one to hold his head firmly in place, making sure he missed not a millisecond of it when he first saw it and was repulsed by it; he showed him the intoxicating and sickening beauty under all that stench and painful suffering, giving meaning to the scene before him word by word. He could still remember that sweet voice in his ear, the cold long fingers on his face, and the warm soothing breath on his exposed neck as his mentor taught his lesson. In time he came to love the pain and suffering too. In time he came to realize it was like a tease, an act of seduction; the Temptation of Death. And it was dazzlingly beautiful; it turned him on every single time, watching someone die.

Like that.

It was as if he was being tempted himself. And it was like that first time all over again, the fear, the pain, the eventual pleasure. Like every time he was with his mentor; every moment they were together he felt like he was playing with an ever-burning flame, scorching himself over and over and over again. Sometimes he felt they were the flame. Together, right at the heart, where they would stay until it was time for one of them to die.

And he realized that his breath was coming too quickly all of a sudden, his mouth too dry. Turning a fierce shade of pink that was invisible so near to the yellow glow of the candle, he forced himself to look away from the heart of the flame, mortified that he could be so… affected… by a burning wick. By what it stood for. What would his mentor say if he found out? And more importantly, what would he do when he found out? Unconsciously his tongue darted out to lick slowly at his chapped lower lip as his eyes glazed over at the possibilities. The room started to feel a lot hotter than it really was and he swallowed hard.

"You'll ruin your eyesight if you stare directly into the flame for too long, Ryoma." An all-too-familiar drawl drifted from the doorway. It made the boy tingle, as usual, in all the wrong places. He bit on his lip to hold back a gasp; he almost drew blood. He had not heard his mentor return.

"Mada mada dane, Fuji senpai," he forced out through gritted teeth levelly. He could feel his face burning and he was sure that it had absolutely nothing to do with his close proximity to the flame.

A light chuckle that filled the large room, followed by the click of a lighter. Then there was smoke. "You know what could happen if you're not careful." A pause. "You know what happened to Akutsu," silkily spoken, like flowing water. Lapping at the edge of his consciousness. "He died because he did not see…"

"I was there too, Fuji senpai. I saw how he died," Ryoma mumbled as he resolutely passed a finger through the tip of the flame. It hurt a little. "It was ugly; I will never die like that," he said emphatically as he passed the same finger through the flame again.

"That's what everyone says, Ryoma, before it's their turn to die. Akutsu died because the shot was fired from his blind side; he wouldn't be able to dodge it in time anyway. His time was up." The cool, soft voice caressed and teased. "I just don't want to see you dead before your time because you ruined your eyes of your own accord. Now that would be ugly, Ryoma." Another chuckle and Ryoma gasped at the sharp pain that shot through his finger from the heart of the flame.

It was dangerous playing with fire, but there was nothing more deadly, or more exciting than that.

"Mada mada dane," he grumbled as he turned to watch his mentor glide towards the soft leather couch before sinking into it gracefully. He threw an arm lazily over the back as he reclined languidly on the couch large enough to seat four. Resting his left heel on the arm he crossed his legs elegantly as he breathed deeply on the cigarette held delicately between his long slender fingers. His eyes were shut as he exhaled with a small drawn out sigh. Ryoma quickly averted his gaze, feeling the burn from his finger spread throughout his body like wildfire.

Fuji was topless.

"Something bothering you, Ryoma?" Fuij did not open his eyes but a smile was fast forming on his flawlessly beautiful face.

"Nothing," Ryoma lied as he resolutely looked away from his mentor who had taught him everything he knew- and he meant every single thing, determined to ignore the other's state of undress.

"Really," the older man purred as he brushed absently at the stray strands of hair that had wandered into his face. "I thought you're going to be sick again, thinking about Akutsu's death." Calm and deceptively placid said, but Ryoma was too attuned to the older man, knew him too well like how well he knew Ryoma to miss out on the taunt cleverly hidden under the simple comment. The dry sarcasm that Fuji loved so well.

Ryoma chose not to respond and Fuji smirked as he returned to his cigarette, knowing full well that he had won yet another round in the little game they had started to play the day he pinned his young protégé down on his bed and had his way with him. Ryoma knew this too and returned sulkily to the candle before him, adamantly refusing to look in the general direction of the couch anymore.

_Knowing that you lost did not mean that you had to give in to the victor. No matter how much you wanted to. It would make you weaker that you already were and you could die if you were weak._ That was one of the first lesson Fuji had taught to him upon taking him under his wing.

Smoke filled the room and Ryoma felt as if he was being suffocated. Or strangled; he felt himself shiver with guilty pleasure at the connotation of the word. He did not like smoke; it was too elusive for him. It was part of the intensity that was the fire, but not entirely so; it was something beyond him that he could not grasp. And Ryoma hated all things that were beyond his reach, all things about his mentor that he did not understand. Or so he thought. Because the truth remained that every enigma about his mentor just drew him a little closer to the older man whether he liked it or not. Like a helpless moth.

"Stop that," he groused as he swatted at the air about him.

"Stop what?" Fuji asked, voice dripping with innocence, from the couch which was becoming more inviting by the second.

"Smoking; I can't breathe," Ryoma complained still not looking towards anywhere near his mentor.

"I thought you like that, not being able to breathe. I don't seem to recall any complaint from you last night," Fuji drawled silkily as his smile turned just a little predatory, watching Ryoma turn a whole shade redder. He did enjoy teasing his charge awfully much; he was adorably irresistible when he was this… _wanting_.

And he knew full well that he wouldn't be able to keep this up much longer; even the most inhuman killer was human too.

"It's not the same," Ryoma said, flustered. "I can't stand smoke," he blurted out just to realize his mistake a split second later when Fuji let out a sultry laugh that nearly pushed Ryoma over the edge. He barely had time to register what had happened before he found himself shoved roughly onto the table before him, his mentor's face looming above him. "Senpai..." he managed to say before it was lost in a long, needy moan as the older man attacked his open mouth almost savagely.

Like fire, definitely.

And they both knew neither was going to come out of this unscathed.

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A/N: ok. what am i doing here at all? bleargh! i have a physics exam at 8... and i broke the hiatus i posed for myself... exams end next tuesday, and yet here i am, writing this. and it isnt even good. am not happy with this. will probably repost this, but i want to know what people feel about this first... its an AU, definitely. and everybody's an assasin, spy, some crook or another, or some intelligence agent. yeah. and everyon'e going to get involved with one another at some time or another. i know i'm not being very helpful here, but... is there anyone interested in reading more? if there isnt then i wont bother working on this. seriously, cos i only wrote this to de-stress and to get an idea off my mind. yeah.

and for those waiting for updates on my other fics, well, expect updates by next week. after going on hiatus for this long, my creative cells have recuperated enough to get me past my writer's block. and am itching to polish everything up soon. hehez. anw, gtg. my bed beckons... XD


	2. one: important lessons

disclaimer: i do no own PoT. really really. XD

_AAAAAAAAAA_

**One: Important Lessons**

He always lay on the exposed side, be it the bed or the couch; he had their bed up against the wall.

He always made his charge sleep against the back of the couch or the cold hard wall while he cradled up against him. Again and again he told himself that it was for him to get out more easily in the morning when he had to get to his assignments before Ryoma woke up. Again and again he had to make himself believe it was the truth, that it was all there was to it. He knew his own lessons.

But more often than not, it was harder than one would expect to practise what one preached. It took a lot of time and determination. And deliberate practice. Sometimes he thought maybe that was why he was so hard on his charge; he did not need a distraction to make everything harder for him.

And sweeter, all at the same time. Fuji often wondered if he should hate Ryoma for what he had given him the forbidden taste of. What he had forbidden himself to feel and taste since a long time ago. Unconsciously he pressed his lips to the dampened forehead of the boy sound asleep in the confines of his arms. Ryoma purred softly at the contact and Fuji felt the corners of his mouth lift involuntarily. He took one last breath of the boy's warmth before drawing away. Ryoma whimpered a little but Fuji pushed firmly away. One of the reasons for sleeping the exposed side was to not give himself any reason to stay beside that tantalizing body any more than necessary. He winced at the movement, however, and realized all of a sudden that he was bleeding. He frowned, then cursed softly below his breath as he got to his feet running a hand gingerly across his abdomen.

His hand came up sticky and wet with a smell so strong that would have turned his stomach inside out a few years ago. Now it was just plain annoying.

He made his way to the medical cupboard, just above the TV set, and reached for the medical kit. All the while he could feel the thick liquid trailing down his lower body, falling to the ground with dull soft thuds, and yet all he could think of was how hard it would be to clean the stains off later. Not that they mattered much in the dark; he just disliked the idea of treading about in his own blood.

It was an old wound, still in the process of healing. He must have overdone it a little during the assignment; he could already feel the pull by the time he got… back. Fuji's hands faltered a little as he cleaned up. For a while there he almost called it home. He tossed another piece of blood soaked cotton the size of his palm into the bin nearby. It was already overflowing with the used wads of cotton.

Maybe he should have been gentler with Ryoma.

He pressed another clean wad to the gash across his abdomen only to have it soaked through a millisecond later. He grimaced at the sting that seared through his body; it was probably worse than he thought.

The gash had been a keepsake from an assignment nearly a month ago. The doctors told him that he was lucky not to have his innards spilt right on the spot and tried to hospitalize him but he refused. When the doctors insisted, he told Atobe to ask them to sod off; they were Atobe's staff to begin with anyway. They eventually reached a compromise whereby Fuji agreed to stay at Atobe's until he was back in workable condition and Atobe agreed to keep those doctors off as long as Fuji took proper care not to die from loss of blood in his monster of a house where he could keep a constant eye on him. It was a fine arrangement, so Fuji had called and told Ryoma that he would be away for work for a couple of weeks and Ryoma had said okay.

He had lied and Ryoma had unknowingly consented to it. For some unknown reason, this upset him very much.

Fuji grabbed the antiseptic from the kit and poured a large amount of it onto some wadded gauze. Then he pressed it harshly to his belly; biting down on his lower lip to stop a hiss from escaping. His hand was covered in a strange mixture of fluids in no time; the bleeding hadn't stopped and he had poured too much of that antiseptic solution. Behind him he could hear Ryoma start to stir. He paused in his administrations as he glanced towards the couch where his charge had started to whimper softly; Ryoma always had nightmares but he had long learnt to keep them to himself.

He learnt from the best.

Unable to stop himself, Fuji was back at the couch in three long strides, blatantly ignoring the pain that followed every jolt of motion. He did mange to stop himself from slipping onto that couch again at the last moment though, so he stood looking down on his sleeping charge as the boy tossed and turned. He did not move after that, just watched as he always did. The only times he would ever interfere were when Ryoma tried to hurt himself in his sleep. Self-cannibalism. He had once woken up to see Ryoma chewing on a bloody fist and he tried never to let it happen again.

And now he stood silently, a hand pressing hard into his abdomen. Funny, how the pain had dissipated, and how his mind was becoming a little woozy. Somewhat like being drunk. Fuji realized with warped amusement that he seemed to be enjoying the feel of warm blood flowing through his fingers; it assured him that he was still very much living. It's almost as intoxicating as its smell which had filled the whole room by now. He needed a cigarette, he thought absently, to cover the smell up properly before his charge woke up. And that was just what he would have done had he been thinking clearly. As it was, the loss of blood was taking its toll on him.

He sank into the couch instead. Which was just as well because he could feel his legs start to give way under him as he lowered himself onto the couch. Where he stayed still for a very long time, feeling his breath thicken while his mind sank into a blissful state of near oblivion, where he could let himself run a little wilder than usual and flout the rules just a little. Where he thought of inconsequential things that he once had but had lost a long time ago, things that he never thought he'd ever find again until he met Ryoma. Things he didn't want to find but was too greedy to let go of now.

Until he came to and found himself collapsed on the ground in a lukewarm pool of his own blood. With a sigh of resignation, Fuji got up and went about cleaning up the mess he'd made, lighting a cigarette for himself in the process.

This was real life, and in real life every lesson he taught was essential for survival; Fuji always liked to think that he was his own best pupil.

Smoke filled up the room in no time.

_AAAAAAAAAA_

When Ryoma woke up hours later, his whole body ached. He could feel bruises forming on parts of his skin and where there weren't any, he could feel broken skin. When he tried to sit up he found himself too weak, too spent to even lift his arms. And it hurt just trying, this dull, sluggish pain that drummed deeply into him. A soft moan escaped him involuntarily.

There seemed to be something congealing on his abdomen, feeling a little lukewarm, but Ryoma in his stupefied state chose to ignore it. It was probably the usual.

"You're awake." Fuji's voice drifted over from the table where the candle had long burnt out. So he had been asleep for that long. He would have grunted in reply if the sharp pain incurred by his attempt to curl up on his side had not turned it into a long drawn-out groan. "I'll take that as a yes then," Fuji said absently, chuckling in amusement. Perhaps it escaped him that he had not asked a question and therefore needed no confirmation from Ryoma. Or maybe he thought it was funny. Fuji had a very strange sense of humour, as Ryoma had learnt painfully over the years.

The boy scowled as he gingerly shifted to make himself more comfortable. "What are you doing?" he asked sulkily; the couch was too large, too cold when you lay in it alone, and the persisting pain irked him without Fuji to turn it into something more pleasurable. He rubbed a little at his still groggy eyes as he made out his mentor's silhouette by the table.

"Nothing," the man replied smoothly as he lifted his right hand to take yet another puff on his cigarette. Ryoma knew he was lying through his teeth because he could see that his mentor was fussing over something with his back towards him. The boy prided himself on his perfect eyesight and his excellent night vision was something that made even Fuji jealous. He barely needed those infrared glasses on his night assignments.

"Liar," Ryoma spat, a pout in his voice, as he turned his head a little more to see Fuji better. But even the most perfect eyesight had its limits in the dark; the details were no more than a fuzz to him. Fuji hummed, looking over his shoulder at his prostrate charge lying limply on the couch as he tapped his cigarette in the ashtray. He did not respond to the boy's outburst like the latter had expected him to. "Liar," Ryoma said again, raising his voice; the game they played irritated the boy immensely most of the time, but it irritated him even more when his mentor refused to play. And he hated it most when people lied to him, no matter how small the lie was. Fuji raised an eyebrow in the dark and a strange smile fleeted across his face. It was gone almost as soon as it appeared.

Ryoma missed it.

"Saa… You call me a liar, Ryoma?" It was spoken barely above a whisper and yet it seemed to echo against the walls of the room. Ryoma blinked and tried to sit up again; there was something about the way Fuji said it that set alarms going off in his head. Or rather, there was something lacking in the way Fuji spoke that alarmed him. Something was definitely amiss and all he got in return for his efforts was an undignified tumble to the cold hard ground. He yelped at the shock of the contact against his skin, still feverish from hours earlier. Fuji chortled lightly as he returned to what he had been doing.

"Something wrong, Fuji senpai?" Ryoma's voice was serious even though it would have been rendered useless in his current state. "You're acting funny."

"I'm fine. Go back to sleep now, or you'll be a wreck tomorrow," Fuji returned absently, his voice muffled as a result of turning away when speaking.

"Senpai," Ryoma insisted, his voice a little hard, "what in the hell is so important that you have to sneak and hide like this?" What he really meant, what he really wanted to say, was this: _What in the hell is wrong with you; you're getting me sick with worry_. But of course, it made things a lot simpler if you learnt to keep emotional elements off limits; this was one lesson Fuji never stopped teaching every instant they were together. Ryoma tried his best whenever he could.

But sometimes his age got in the way. Sometimes he forgot who he was and tried to act his age. And they all led to disastrous results; the last time he got carried away he got a broken arm in return for his troubles.

"You're more energetic than I thought. I think I sometimes worry too much, thinking you're still as little as you were eight years ago," Fuji said calmly, sidestepping Ryoma's outburst with remarkable ease. He raised his right hand to his lips again. But this time, Ryoma had woken up enough to pick out the slight shake in his hand. "Why don't you clean up a little, then we'll get something to eat. How about Japanese, your favourite," Fuji went on placidly. He still did not turn to face Ryoma.

Smoke started to fill the room again and Ryoma suddenly realized how strange his abdomen felt. It felt like it was caked in something and it was highly uncomfortable. He touched it tentatively, absently, as he glared at his mentor, trying to bore a hole into his gracefully arched back. He thought that thing on his belly, whatever it was, felt eerily familiar, though he couldn't really pin down why.

"I'm not hungry…"

"I said to clean up. Then we eat." Incisor sharp. And cutting. Fuji tapped his cigarette against the side of the ashtray in irritation; his voice gave nothing away though.

"I said I'm not hungry and stop ordering me around like I'm some clueless kid," Ryoma seethed, his hand clenching on his abdomen. The man was being stubborn and Ryoma knew it- he learnt from the best.

"You do remember who I am, don't you." There was a dangerous undertone in Fuji's voice. "Don't make me repeat my instructions again, or you'll be very sorry." Dark, and threatening. It was always like this, the way they talked to each other. They were either playing that damned game or they were going at each other's throat like this. It was routine, and they had grown used to it. Sometimes Fuji would act on his threats and beat Ryoma senseless. Sometimes, and the boy wondered not without a little apprehension if this was one of those times.

"Yeah, I remember. You're a jerk," he spat as he brought up his hand to brush at his hair impatiently. He would not give his mentor the satisfaction of knowing that he was afraid even if he was quaking like this from sheer panic of what could befall him. He caught a whiff of something metallic as his hand passed before his face. It was very, very familiar indeed. "I'd like to see what you can do to me…" he started to say vehemently before the smell registered in his mind- the smell of blood that had started to dry, to turn stale- "when you're bleeding like this…" He finished barely above a whisper. Fuji crushed his cigarette harshly against the ashtray.

There was shocked silence as Ryoma tried to regain his bearings while Fuji ground his cigarette butt violently in the ashtray. All previous anger dissipated as his mind shot into overdrive.

"Senpai, you're injured, aren't you?" Panic crept into Ryoma's voice. "Senpai!"

"Go, clean yourself up. Dinner's in half an hour. So hurry," Fuji muttered as he reached for his pack. "Don't make me hit you."

Shakily, Ryoma got to his feet, his mind running at the speed of light as he tried to process the situation at hand though his movements were sluggish and painfully slow. He was not afraid of blood, not anymore, not when he caused it to be shed in plentiful amounts every other day, though he did find the stains and the stickiness were troublesome. Neither did the thought of his mentor being hurt bother him; it was part and parcel of their lives. It was the extent of the hurt that had him petrified like this. He'd inflicted enough wounds himself to know that it wasn't just a small cut or a bullet shot that spilled this much blood.

"Let me see," he demanded quietly.

"No."

"Let me see."

"Do as you're told, or else."

"Let me see it, dammit!" Ryoma's voice rose unstably to a shrill erratic cry as he lunged for his mentor. Fuji gasped at the sudden contact and instinctively dealt a resounding slap to the boy's face. Ryoma felt faint and tasted blood. A violent shove sent him crashing onto the floor and he thought he felt his head contact with the chair.

"Do as you're told, Ryoma."

"I'll decide after I've taken a look," Ryoma replied thickly as he swiped at the trickle at his left temple, eyes set resolutely on his mentor. "I don't want to have you die on me."

"I won't; I've been through worse before. A few stitches will do; I can manage on my own," Fuji deadpanned as he reached for a cigarette. Ryoma took the chance to pounce and in no time at all the man found himself pinned to the table, too weak to even protest.

"I'll do it for you." Ryoma attempted to keep the tremble out of his voice as he surveyed the damage. There was a deep gash across the length of Fuji' abdomen, Ryoma could make out the incisor-clean cut that was fast turning into a gory bloody mess. "You never did like doctors."

"Back off."

"And watch you kill yourself?" Ryoma burnt with the need to say what needed to be said, but all he managed was, "Why would I do that if your death means scaling down the pecking order for me?" It wasn't entirely true, nor was it as witty as he hoped for it to be, but it was better than repeating what his heart was saying word for word.

Much better.

He left Fuji on the table as he went to look for some clean thread and a needle, strangely missing the smell of cigarette smoke that he usually detested.

The apartment felt a whole lot emptier without the smoke.

_AAAAAAAAAA_

Ryoma sank against the wall as he disposed of the last of those bloody bandages. He felt a little faint as he turned to return to the couch where Fuji was resting in now. He could hear the wetness in the slap on his bare feet against the floor; there was blood everywhere. Fuji's blood. Ryoma felt strangely comforted by the warped thought that he was being surrounded by the very life of Fuji right now.

"Thank you," Fuji whispered from where he lay.

"No problem, senpai," Ryoma returned as he slipped onto the couch beside his mentor, pressing lightly against the man's side. Fuji felt an unreasonable anger at being trapped on the wrong side of the couch and he shifted.

"I need a smoke," he said smoothly when Ryoma raised an eyebrow at him. The boy nodded silently and got up to get him one.

Fuji bit his tongue for wanting the warm presence back the moment he sent it away.

There was a reason for always lying on the exposed side.

He heard a candle being lit. One of those scented ones; probably lavender. Ryoma like them better than the others.

Ryoma padded back to the couch and handed him a fresh cigarette and his lighter before slipping back beside Fuji. And it felt right, this proximity between them that was not skewed by hypocrisy and duty. Fuji felt an arm snake around him as he flicked the lighter open.

"When was it?" The inevitable question that came as a soft calming wave over his shoulder.

"You don't need to know."

"It was the last assignment, right? The one you just came back from three days ago, seemingly unscathed." Ryoma said quietly as he tightened his arm around Fuji. The older man faltered a little as he put the cigarette to his mouth, his skin tingling at the closeness of his charge. "Tell me Fuji, why did you lie?" Large catlike eyes stared unwaveringly into his as the boy waited for his answer. They were a deep warm liquid gold. "Don't lie to me this time if you answer."

Fuji turned away and finally lit his lighter. He held the flame there for longer than necessary, losing himself in its pulsating brightness.

How could he tell the truth when it meant going against all he had learnt and all he had taught? When it meant telling the reason for every senseless and unreasonable thing he ever did. The reason for lying, the reason for playing the game, the reason for hitting him, the reason for always lying on the exposed side of the bed and the couch. How could he tell him that it was so that he could make himself believe that he would not die, that he would be alright and return to Ryoma like he always did after a long day of hard work without the boy beside him? How could he tell him that he was afraid that if he said it out loud it would become a fact and he would really die this time? And lose Ryoma?

How could he not tell a lie and yet be the good teacher he should be?

How could he tell him that he played the game because he never wanted to stop touching him, never wanted to stop seeing how much Ryoma wanted him? How could he tell him that every blow he dealt was a reminder of what he longed for with all his being, and what he must never ever get? How could he tell him that every time he slept on the exposed side was just so that he could slip back to Ryoma and pretend that he had never left in the first place? So that he could protect Ryoma the way he should have protected the people he loved with all his soul so many years ago.

Protect him with his life itself.

Soft lavender washed over the room.

"Then don't ask, Ryoma. Or have you forgotten what I taught you?"

Never tell the truth so that you will never be betrayed. So that you will always be stronger than you really are.

"I haven't. You don't have to tell me if you don't want me to. I don't want to hear another lie from you," Ryoma mumbled into Fuji's shoulder.

Fuji's hand trembled as he exhaled slowly.

They lay that way in silence for a long time, watching the smoke rise languidly, writhing sensually before diffusing into the air. It looked almost solid to touch and lighter than air both at the same time.

"Why do you smoke? You can tell me that without lying can't you?" Ryoma snuggled closer until he could feel Fuji's skin against his own everywhere.

"It's a reminder, is all. It helps me remember things. Those that happened in the past, those that need to be done in the future," Fuji said softly, touching his fingers to his lips where he could feel the smoke escaping. In his mind's eyes he could see it. Smoke, everywhere.

"Will you die?" It sounded strangely like the mew of an injured kitten.

"We all will, but I intend to live until I'm done. That's why I smoke."

"I don't get it," Ryoma said, unable to lie that he understood perfectly, running a hand meekly across Fuji's freshly bandaged wound. Fuji gasped at the pleasurable pain that raked through him from the feather light touch. He turned his head so that he could capture those golden depths in his own deep cerulean eyes. And he reached for the boy's face.

"Pray to all kami-sama in heaven that you never have to get it, Ryoma." Then Ryoma felt soft quivering lips claim his, openmouthed and hungry. And he could feel the searing heat that surrounded him, devoured him and marked him as its own as he gave in. Losing himself, melting and melding to the liquid fire that was Fuji.

He thought he could see the liquid wax make its way down the length of the lilac candle. The fire and the candle, as one, flowing and flowing until the very end.

The last he saw before he let himself be consumed by the burning passion that was both Fuji's and his.

_AAAAAAAAAA_

_When the phone rang, it was Ryoma who went to get it, treading on blood that had dried to near black smears on the floor. It was Atobe who called. Something about Kaidoh, and something about a new assignment. Everybody was to meet under the hour at his mansion; it was important._

_They were ready within five minutes._

_Ryoma took care to blow out the candle before they left, leaving the wax to cool and harden on the tabletop._

_AAAAAAAAAA_

A/N: here it is, the first chapter. this is LONG. four thousand over words... wow. i'm so proud of myself. XD well, i needed to write this to get one certain conversation between the two of them out. yeah. i really wanted to write it in the prologue, but it didnt fit. so its here. yayness! hope people like this... and in reply to Unreal Phantom, i would love to write a SMUT fic, but i really cant bring myself to do it... i'm so sorry. i'll try harder as i get along... hehe.


	3. two: reminders of

disclaimer: i own nothing but the plot.

**_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA_**

**Two: Reminders of**

_They did not have a name; names were too dangerous. Names gave solid proof of what existed, and the last thing they wanted was to leave any trace that they existed at all. Sometimes they referred to themselves as the Organisation, uncreative as it was; it was bland, and it was normal, which made it a good collective for them, a good cover up for the extraordinary crimes they committed on a daily basis. Usually they just referred to themselves as 'we' and 'us'. Nothing fancy about it; it would be a mockery of the line they had chosen to walk to have a name as fancy as those in movies. _

_What their profession involved was serious work; every assignment they undertook was a matter of life and death, both for their targets and for themselves. There was nothing glorious about it, just tons of dirty work that paid damned well. It was that simple, when you came down to it. _

**_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA_**

Ann held the receiver to her ear longer than necessary even after the call had ended, a million questions flashing through her mind as she recounted the entire conversation word by word. The young woman had always been outstanding in all that she did. Her amazing memory was what had made her stand out in school when she was younger, and it was what made her stand out at work now too. The fact that she was highly perceptive and bright just added to her list of credits. But right now, five full minutes after the end of their conversation, things were just too muddled up even for her to sort out; all she had managed to sift out were that there was a meeting, that there was a new assignment that somehow required the presence of everybody, and that Kaidoh was captured- as unbelievable as that was- and those were pretty much what Atobe had said to her. In short, she had been unable to decipher the rather puzzling message under the time limit she had set for herself and she was annoyed.

Everything was a challenge to her, and it always annoyed her when she lost, even if it was to herself; she hated losing. She chewed absently on a nail as she finally put down the phone.

"Anything the matter, Ann?" Tachibana Kippei's voice drifted over from the doorway of Ann's room. She looked up to see her older brother balancing a stack of papers, a couple of hardcover files that must have weighed two kilograms each, and a handful of markers while holding desperately onto his precious coffee mug. "I thought you've gotten over that habit long time ago," he said fondly as he absently shifted the humongous pile for better balance.

Ann giggled a little; she had never figured out how anyone could ever balance so many things on one arm and yet be as affectionate at the same time. Practice, Tachibana had said with a perfectly straight face and a slight ruffle of her hair when she asked him about it once. "Need help with those, aniki?" she chirped as she got to her feet. "I think your file's falling off."

Tachibana grunted as he watched the topmost file continue with its merry slide to the floor. Ann managed to catch it at the last instant, though he didn't really see how she could be that fast. He never thought taking lessons in karate could improve one's reflexes so much. "Thanks," he said sheepishly. Ann grinned up at her brother from where she stooped.

"I've got you," she said, waving the file as she straightened. "I'll help you with those." Then she reached over and took the other file off the pile.

"Thanks," Tachibana said gratefully as he flexed his shoulders discreetly. Ann caught the movement and laughed. "Stop laughing already, Ann." He rolled his eyes though his mouth had started to twitch as well.

They managed to make it to his room without any major mishap.

"You really have a lot of work to do, don't you aniki?" Ann asked as she dumped her load onto her brother's bed before jumping onto it herself. She ran her hand over the cover of one file idly, itching to read its contents. "You'll eventually die from all that caffeine you consume every single day, aniki. It's bad for your body. Maybe you should retire," Ann mumbled into the bedding.

"What's there to worry about caffeine when I could be killed more easily by a highly trained assassin?" Tachibana retorted as he turned to pick up the two files after depositing his own load and his coffee mug on his table. Ann flinched a little and withdrew her hand. "And about my work, we've been through this many times, Ann. I love my job, and it pays well." He looked over his little sister as he straightened himself. "I want to look after you well, Ann, and give you the most comfortable life I can afford."

"I can take care of myself too, aniki. And I can look after you as well; my pay's better than yours," she argued as she sat up.

"But you're my little sister, Ann; it's my responsibility to look after you." Tachibana's voice held an air of finality as he sat down at his table. "Unless you find yourself a worthy husband who'll do a better job than me, of course," he added, glancing over his shoulder at his little sister.

Ann blinked, then groaned.

"Not again, aniki…"

Tachibana chuckled as he took a sip of his coffee. "Speaking of which," he continued smoothly, "when are you going to show me that boyfriend of yours? Kamio, isn't it?"

"He's a colleague, aniki, not a boyfriend."

"But you're almost always talking to him on the phone…"

"About work, aniki. Work," Ann said emphatically.

"Whatever you say, Ann. Just tell me when you're ready and I'll get everything ready to welcome him to, you know, maybe a dinner."

"Were you even listening to me?" Ann sighed in exasperation. Kamio? Her brother thought she was going out with Kamio? _No girl in the right mind would go out with Kamio, _ever Then she frowned; something wasn't quite right about this. She had never once mentioned Kamio to her brother. Even if he did overhear any of her conversations with the redhead, she was sure that she had given him no cause to think that they're together.

She could hear alarms going off in her head.

"Aniki…" she started carefully, "what makes you think that I'm going steady with Kamio?"

"Oh." Tachibana took another sip of his coffee as he flipped through his papers. "He called once when you were out. I picked up the call. The kid's got pretty good manners; he confessed his love for you to me," he said absently.

"How long ago was that, aniki?" Ann's mind was reeling. _Was it possible…? That would definitely explain many things, like why Atobe called this meeting, for example. _

"A couple of days ago, I think. Why?"

_A few days ago… Kaidoh went on his mission a few days ago, and Kamio was with him… Oh gods… _

"Oh… nothing, aniki. What did he say, exactly? And I mean exact words, aniki." Ann enunciated her words carefully, afraid that a sudden change in tome would alert her well-trained brother to her current state of mind; he wasn't among the elite in the Intelligence for nothing.

"I can't really recall, Ann. I don't have a memory like yours. And besides, am I really expected to remember everything a love-crazed guy has to say about my baby sister? And by the way, was that him on the phone just now…"

"I need to go out for a while, aniki." Ann got up in a hurry, her mind going into overdrive.

"But it's late, Ann…"

Ann leaned down to give her older brother a hug. "I promise to be back by one, aniki. And I'll get you something to go with that horrible coffee along the way. I forgot all about the call earlier on. It's my boss, aniki, and there's a meeting in half an hour's time."

Tachibana sighed. "You have meetings at the most unearthly times, Ann."

"I know, but I can't help it, aniki." She pecked her brother lightly and quickly on the top of his head; she could smell his shampoo. "See you later then?"

"See ya."

Ann was halfway out of the room when she suddenly remembered something and turned to her brother again. "By the way, aniki, have you seen my shades anywhere around? I couldn't find them this morning."

"They're on the dinner table, Ann. But it's almost midnight; why would you need your shades at this hour?" Tachibana looked up from his mountain of papers quizzically.

Ann pursed her lips a little as she sought for an explanation. "Let's put it this way. My boss has a strange obsession with blinding white lights and so I'll definitely need them when I meet him." And with a wave she was gone.

Tachibana did not look up from his papers again when he heard the front door click shut five minutes later; he was used to Ann's late nights by now and he was fine with them as long as Ann didn't overwork herself too much. Absently he reached for his coffee again and scribbled a quick note to himself on a post-it which he pasted onto the back of his hand before returning to his work.

The note read: _Important note to self- warm milk for Ann and turn Ann's bed down before one._

**_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA_**

When she had made it a few blocks down, putting a safe distance between herself and her home, Ann spared a backward look towards the apartment she shared with her brother. She pulled her gloves on.

_Aniki… _

She could still smell her brother's shampoo. It was musky and light, and it smelt of him.

Her brother had never suspected her, even though he did ban her from looking through his papers, but he did that with practically everyone. Not even once when she left in the middle of the night did he ever suspect his little sister to be a murderer who appeared so often in his papers that he could remember every single crime she committed. He was among the best in the Intelligence, with a full team of elite agents under him, and he lived unawares with one of the most wanted criminals on his lists.

He still did not suspect her.

He trusted her so much that he wouldn't have hurt her even if she tried to pry into his classified folders; he loved her too much. And she loved him back too, so she never once tried. Neither had Atobe ever forced her into doing so, and for that she was grateful towards the pompous man. But it was getting harder and harder everyday; the more she dabbled in her work, the more self-control she lost. And she was afraid. That she would one day betray that trust, and that she would one day be the one to have to finish him off. She had lost count of the times she had persuaded him to retire, but he always said he was too young to retire. He always said that he had to take good care of her now that their family was gone.

It made her stricken with guilt, and it made it a little harder to look her brother in the eye every day. But somehow, she managed.

Every single day.

_Aniki._

Strangely, she could hear _Phantom of the Opera_ start to play ominously in the back of her mind. The play had always intrigued her ever since she was little; especially Erik with his demonic heart hidden under that unearthly angelic voice. She had come to develop an outlandish habit of humming the tune as she carved her targets up which made even Fuji raise his brows at her.

She blinked slowly once, wondering why she was hearing it now.

A reminder, perhaps.

Then the moment was over as she turned to the road before her. Her eyes hardened a little as she gave a final tug on her gloves, gathering her thoughts once again and focusing them on the matter at hand.

She had work to do now.

That message Kamio had left with her brother had been a code, and the fact that it coincided with the date of Kamio and Kaidoh's previous assignment made her very uneasy indeed. Coupled with the news that Kaidoh had been captured and this urgent meeting Atobe had called, it was most likely that it had been a call for help.

Ann's lips tightened at the thought that she might have unknowingly endangered the lives of her colleagues. If that was so, then it would only be right for her to be actively involved in whatever Atobe had planned for them. It was of course strictly business, with no emotions attached; if she had been the reason for any misfortune that befell them, she was obligated to compensate them in one way or another. What movies portrayed of 'loyalty' and 'brotherhood' were nothing but make-believe; in her line of work, you got careless when you were emotional, and you got killed when you were careless.

There was nothing complicated involved; it was all a matter of give and take. Of repaying debts and exacting interests.

It was a little like business, only much simpler.

And lonelier. And colder.

She let her hands fall to her sides.

A long time ago, she had dreamt of becoming a primary school teacher like her mother had been; she had never expected herself to walk the path she was treading now. But there was a reason for her choice- as there was one for her aniki's- and she would take everything the choice came along with. Even if she had to give up something in return; she had decided on this a long time ago.

And she knew that soon it would be everything she had that she would have to give up. She also knew that she would do it, without a doubt.

She was ready for the meeting.

When tonight was all over she would remember her promise to buy her brother some supper like she always did. And she would reach home by one because she would remember knowing that he would be waiting for her.

There would be time for her to be human again, but right now, she would do whatever needed to be done to earn a living.

She walked resolutely down the road, not looking back anymore.

The scent of her brother's shampoo slowly dissipated as it was replaced with the cold stale air of the night.

**_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA_**

"Stay here," Fuji stated simply as they stepped into the enormous hall of Atobe's mansion. It was almost a command and Fuji knew exactly what was coming next.

"Why? Why do you get to go in first while I have to wait out here with everyone else? Why do you have to go in first before everyone else? Why do you always meet up with Atobe alone even when he calls for everybody?" Ryoma fired at him along with his most vehement glare. Which wasn't very effective considering the flush in his face from their making out a few minutes ago in the car.

"Because I get to see you jealous like this, Ryoma. How adorable," Fuji purred into Ryoma's ear as he rubbed the boy's chin gently with his thumb.

"I am not jealous," Ryoma announced a little too loudly as he jerked his cap downwards, his flush turning a shade redder- if that was possible- in reaction to both Fuji's words and his touch.

"I can totally see that, Echizen." A drawl from the main staircase announced the presence of Atobe's handsome secretary. "You are most convincing, kid," Oshitari Yuushi drawled with a wide knowing smirk as he watched from the foot of the stairs, leaning casually against a pillar.

"Why thank you for the compliment, Oshitari-kun," Fuji returned silkily to the unspoken message behind Oshitari's words and the two men shared another knowing smirk that made Ryoma's face burn even more.

"Mada mada dane," he mumbled under his breath as he yanked his cap even lower over his face in a fruitless attempt to recover some dignity. This brought forth a chuckle from Fuji and Ryoma scowled. "Aren't you going to see the great Atobe-sama, lord of the jungle and king of all primates…" he started before he felt Fuji's lips were on his, kissing him most thoroughly like there wasn't anyone studying them barely three metres away. He mewled involuntarily as he leaned into the kiss.

"You'll see me soon enough, Ryoma. Be good and wait till you're asked for, ne?" Fuji breathed softly into Ryoma's ear as he pulled away. The boy whimpered a little at the sudden lack of contact. Fuji patted him lightly on his white felt cap while Oshitari waited patiently for the tensai to finish placating his kitten. "See you later," Fuji said with a tone of finality as he straightened to face Oshitari. "I'll see him now."

Ryoma was already forgotten. Just like that.

Oshitari inclined his head slightly. "He's in his study, as usual. He's been a little unstable these few days, so it should be fun… interacting… with him." You could hear the smirk in his voice; it was literally dripping with devilish glee.

"Maa… that should be interesting…" Fuji grinned at the taller man as he sauntered to the stairs.

"I also gave him some stronger liquor than normal, just in case," Oshitari added as he returned the grin, his eyes twinkling. Then the two of them burst out in laughter and Fuji didn't stop until he made it to Atobe's study. It had to be an insider's joke or something because Ryoma couldn't really see what was so funny about that.

Not that he could really see anything in his current state of… _discomfort_, anyway.

"The bathroom's just down the corridor over there, kid," Oshitari quipped as he rubbed a little at his eyes. "The others won't be here anytime soon so you have plenty of time to take care of your problem." He looked appreciatively and pointedly at Ryoma's crotch as his grin widened. Said boy almost fainted in a most undignified manner on the spot from sheer mortification. Not that he had much dignity left now.

"I know where the bathroom is, dammit!" Ryoma yelled at him. He almost stamped his feet but caught himself at the last moment; no need to make his case worse than it already was.

"Of course you do, Echizen." With yet another chuckle, Oshitari winked at the boy before returning to his own study. Ryoma growled after the man, trying futilely to render the infuriating man dead with his deadliest death glare. And when he realized belatedly that he had fallen into another of the man's traps, he ditched the last of his overrated dignity and stamped his feet hard onto the carpeted floor on top of his not-so-subtle strings of curses.

These, of course, fell on deaf ears as Oshitari's laughter followed him all the way down the corridor to the bathroom.

**_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA_**

Atobe's study was a queer sight to behold.

For one, it was almost ridiculously enormous; one could have easily fit in a whole office in that room alone. For another, one could never have found a more lavish display of wealth than this room: almost every exposed surface was gilded gold, and those that weren't were covered with exquisite carvings so ornate they seemed unearthly; what covered the marble floor was fur, real animal fur of the finest quality. But what was oddest of all was the sheer whiteness of it all. The walls were white, the floor and the fur covering it were white and even the lights were a blinding white.

Tachibana Ann was not exaggerating when she told her aniki about the need for shades. The brightness would have been beyond normal tolerance of the human eyes, but it had never remotely bothered Atobe. He was a strange person, eccentric and unpredictable even to his closest associates. And it amused him greatly to confuse them over and over again; it was his favourite game.

Besides, white was one of his favourite colours, alongside gold, all shades of purple and grey. And it was a good reminder; it helped him remember things that time had stolen from him.

It helped him remember what he used to be and what he could have been and what he could never be now.

What he had, could have and would never have now.

Atobe swirled the glass in his hand slowly as he watched the clear liquor slosh against the sides, waiting for everyone else to arrive. It was a deep rich red that seemed to exude an inner light of its own, almost like freshly spilt blood. Contained within the delicate paper-thin walls of the glass, it seemed almost surreal. It lapped softly at the sides of its container, gently swirling, and Atobe was mesmerized. He held it up to the light and watched it sparkle for a while; maybe hypnotized would be a better word. Then he put it to his lips before thinking the better of it and replaced it delicately on the table before him.

The table. It used to be a state of the art piece of furniture, impressively beautiful, reasonably suitable for an Atobe and large enough to take up nearly the whole length of the enormous room. Which also meant that it was outrageously large, in other words. But right now one could barely make out the exquisite patterns on the tabletop, thanks to the endless piles of loose documents and folders that had taken over all available space on the table. It was not messy though; in fact, one could not have found a cabinet more organized than Atobe's tabletop. It was the sheer amount of them that had one stumped. But Atobe being Atobe, not only made it look surprisingly normal, but also… _stylish_. It wasn't a word that you would expect to use to describe a table that obviously belonged to a workaholic who appeared to have unhealthy obsessions that no one had any explanation for. But then again, Atobe wasn't really someone who could be properly defined by common expectations.

At the moment, the eccentric and beautiful rich man was very deep in thought as he drummed his fingers absently against the arm of his ornate seat. The past few days had proved to be very trying and Atobe would one day look back on them and be aghast at the way he had managed to live through them. Insomnia ruled in the nights and countless problems both personal and non-personal rigged his brains in the day. Coffee and alcohol became his staple diet and his study turned into his bedroom, dining room, office and walk-in-wardrobe.

All because of a single piece of paper and a few random people and some more people who happened to screw things up. Because everything had started to snowball at an alarming rate and Atobe could do absolutely nothing about it. Because he felt helpless and he hated being helpless.

Afraid of it, even.

_Where is Fuji when I need him the most? _

Atobe brushed at some stray strands of hair in frustration as he once again attempted to tackle the jumble of problems that had rendered him a wreck in a matter of days. Not that anyone could see it anyway; to the untrained eye, he was still as glorious as ever, and to the trained eye he just appeared to be a little more tired than usual. However, he would still need to sort everything out before the rest arrived. It was one thing to have everyone know that he had more problems on his plate than he could deal with, and another thing to have them know about his more personal issues in a careless slip of the tongue.

Most definitely, absolutely not.

Unconsciously, he reached resolutely for his glass and drained it of its contents in one single ungracious gulp.

"Troubled, Atobe?" Fuji's silky drawl drifted from the doorway.

_At last. And right on time too, as usual. _

"A little pretentious today aren't we, Fuji?" Atobe returned smoothly as he raised his eyes to the smiling tensai leaning against the wall. _And so the game begins. _

"No more than usual, Atobe."

"The honorific, Fuji, the honorific. Ore-sama must be properly addressed at all times, Fuji." Atobe smirked as he tapped a finger against the side of the glass.

"I thought we're long beyond that, Atobe. No need for formality when we're alone, ne?" Fuji sauntered to the elaborate side table where an ice bucket and some glasses were laid out and poured himself a drink. "I thought we're friends, or something like that," he said over his glass, eyes open and staring straight at Atobe.

_Or maybe something more than that, ne?_

Atobe leaned back in his seat and smirked right back. Fuji was the only one who remained unaffected by the unsettling whiteness of his room. He was also the only one to know the reason for it since Atobe decided to tell him a long time ago.

_Friends, or something, ahn?_

Atobe stood up and went over for a refill.

"So what's bothering the great Atobe-sama anyway? Your eye bags are showing," Fuji tapped a finger to the corner of his eyes, "right here." He leaned in until his face was mere inches from Atobe's.

_You're not doing well, and it's showing. And I want to know why. _

"Thank you for the reminder, Fuji." Atobe brought his newly filled glass up between them. "And as a friend- _or something else_- ore-sama would like to remind you in return that your current conduct is exactly what has your little pet on edge every single time you come to see me."

"Ryoma is not a pet, Atobe. And I also happen to enjoy his jealousy very much, so I do not see it as much of a problem," Fuji returned smoothly as he lowered his head to lap a little from Atobe's glass, looking through his long lashes at the man before him. "Stop digressing won't you? We were supposed to be talking about you, in case you forgot."

_In case you forgot that you can't hide anything from me, like how I can't hide much from you. In case you forgot that I would always be here to listen to every one of your troubles like you would always listen to mine. _

Atobe smirked as he watched Fuji play out his little antics. He had no qualms about admitting to the fact that he enjoyed the show very much.

_Not a pet, ah? _

Atobe remembered a long time ago when he had said the same thing about the exquisite man right before him.

"Since when have you ever cared much about ore-sama's well-being, Fuji?" Atobe ran a hand lazily through Fuji's hair. "Since when have you ever cared about anyone, anyway?" He massaged the soft scalp under his fingers in slow wide circles, just the way he knew Fuji liked.

"Since the day you decided to take pity on me. And you know better than anyone else that I couldn't care less about you; I hate you to the core," Fuji breathed as he took a step nearer to Atobe, if that was possible. _I will never hate any other person dead or alive more than I hate you. I will also never care about any other living person more than I care about you._ "But it never hurts to know a little more about the details of your sufferings." He blinked slowly, obviously enjoying the other man's administrations.

_You know that as well as I do. I know that you do. _

"Of course. And ore-sama could say the same thing about you." Atobe moved the glass away from Fuji. "However, ore-sama shall be fair and answer your queries since you asked first. How does that sound to you, _my friend_?"

"That sounds fine." Fuji straightened himself and took a sip from his own glass, smiling a little. Atobe returned the smile as he started to make his way back to his seat.

The game was over, for now, and this was where everything began.

This was where they would talk.

_Finally. _

**_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA_**

Ryoma moaned loudly as he climaxed. His mind cleared a little as he slumped against the wall weakly.

"Baka Fuji-senpai," he said loudly in between pants, hearing his voice bounce back as an echo from the walls of the huge bathroom. It could have passed for a living room before it had been properly furnished. "Baka…"

He let himself slip to the tiled floor, rubbing his eyes which had become a little sore from the white fluorescent lighting.

Echizen Ryoma was not a child anymore, even though everyone treated him so; he might have been only eight when Atobe took him in, but he was seventeen now and he refused to be treated like a baby anymore. He hated it when they brushed him aside and when they ignored his questions like they weren't spoken in the first place.

Especially when it was Fuji-_of all people_- doing it to him.

It had started out as mere curiosity that he first asked Fuji about his relationship to Atobe Keigo. The strange looks they gave each other, the long talks they had in private, the secrets they kept from everybody else. He had first asked if they were friends, and Fuji commented on the weather; Ryoma could still remember that it was a bright and sunny day. Then he asked if they were lovers and Fuji smiled before telling him to go to bed; it was a whole hour earlier than his usual bedtime.

Then he asked if they were in love, and Fuji had looked at him in a way he never did before_. You're so adorable, Ryoma,_ he had said before kissing him on the lips for the very first time.

Not even once in all those years did Fuji answer his question.

He did not even bother to acknowledge it.

Ryoma pulled his legs to himself and tucked his knees under his chin.

It was not jealousy, not in the beginning, at least. He was only a child, and he was curious. Then things became a little complicated after the kiss; it still wasn't anything that he would call jealousy, exactly. But when they started sleeping together things got out of control completely.

It was much easier being a child but he wanted to be treated like the adult he had become too.

He wasn't jealous. He couldn't be; he and Fuji were never lovers to begin with. Yes they did everything lovers could do together, but they did not love each other. Did they? At least he knew that Fuji didn't. He wasn't sure about himself; matters of the heart simply weren't taught in any lesson he had learnt over the years.

They were redundant and dangerous things. They could get you killed.

That's why it could never be jealousy that he was feeling. It was anger, disappointment and hurt. That Fuji would choose to keep it all from him like the eight years of being together amounted to nothing at all.

"Baka Fuji senpai," he whispered softly into the emptiness, feeling his eyes burn badly. He rubbed them once again, hard, and his hand came away wet. He swiped his hands across his eyes again, and again, until they were no longer wet. He wasn't a child anymore, and so he would not cry; tears were weak and they couldn't help with anything.

If he didn't see them fall, he could still pretend that they were never there in the first place.

He could pretend and make-believe many things. And he would be fine, eventually.

Then a loud melodious bell echoed through the mansion, signaling the arrival of a new visitor. He got up hastily and tidied himself up. He washed his face too, just to wash all incriminating evidence away.

As he looked into the mirror one last time, he found that he suddenly looked very different. He couldn't tell what it was, but the difference was there. Then he saw the fire in his eyes and quickly put it out before he stepped out to join his colleague in the hall.

It was only right for him to blend in with the rest. No need to make himself stand out too much; he was a grown up now.

**_AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA_**

**A/N:** here it is, the second chapter! am so relieved now... i revised this FIVE TIMES! atobe and fuji were horrible to write... ESPECIALLY atboe. seriously. he gave me the most trouble of all, and it was because of him that i had to rewrite five times. and its a deletion of near two thousand words every single time. really horrible. shudders. and i really wanted to include somemore details in this chapter but i out did myself by writing five thousand over words! and i really couldnt add in anymore without making it seem draggy. which it already is. sigh... i hope this is as enjoyable as the previous chapters though...

some points to take note of: atobe is definitely not in love with fuji and vice versa. what they share is something deeper... yeah. and about ann, this will be the first time i'm having a het pairing as one of the main pairs in a fic, so please be kind with me when ann's love interest comes along in the near future. XD

one last thing before i go... i've done some drawings of how i've pictured fuji, ryoma, and ann to be like. they're on my lj and please feel free to take a look. they're here: http/weaver-miethra. and just for your information, the images are actually links to the gallery, so you can click on them for larger versions.


	4. three: definitions

disclaimer: PoT is not mine. you know who it belongs to. :D

* * *

**Three: Definitions**

_He lived, now, in a world of white; a world too full of emptiness. A void. There was nothing in his world for him, not anymore. But it hadn't always been so; a long time ago, he never dreamt in the wildest of dreams that he would come to know the meaning of being alone. _

_Of living a life of whiteness. _

_A life, where everything that made up his very existence was wiped cleanly away. Like a white blank slate, except he could still see every single second of the wiping every time he closed his eyes as if it had happened just before his eyes fell shut. _

_Always. _

_And he would remember many things that hurt him badly to even think about, but he would remember. He would not forget, would not let himself forget. _

_Because everything is irreplaceable. Once it's gone, it's gone. It will never come back. _

_Forever. _

And forever, Keigo, is a very very very long time_; he could still remember the fever in those deep brown eyes as these words were said to him. _

That is how long a time I want to be with you, Jirou. Forever.

_But for him, forever ended before it even began. _

_There was a reason for choosing the colour white. And he could still remember every moment of the reason why. _

"_White is both everything and nothing at the same time, Keigo. Rainbows come from white light, and no colour on a palette is complete without a dab of white. It holds so much, and it can be so much, and yet it holds onto nothing. It gives everything all away for us to see; it's so beautiful, don't you think, Keigo?" Pools of deep chocolate peered deeply into Atobe's eyes as the boy beamed happily, waving a paintbrush before his face in excitement. _

"_It's just a colour, Jirou." _

"_It's not 'just a colour', Keigo. There's nothing in this world that is 'just something'; everything has its own purpose and its place in this world and there isn't anything in this world that can ever be replaced by something else!" An indignant pout and a violent shake of the brush to illustrate his point. Atobe's eyes followed the trail of a single speck on white paint that had landed on the tip of the boy's nose. _

"_You could always replace a mug with another," Atobe drawled as he rubbed affectionately at the single speck of paint._

"_But you'd know that it isn't the same mug, won't you, Keigo?" he persisted, a pout on his lips, "You'd know because it'll feel different when you hold it, because the colours will be different when you look at it. Even if it's just a mug, it will always be different!"_

_A fire was burning, burning in those deep chocolate depths and Atobe reached deep into the warmth. He pulled the boy into his arms, eyes never leaving the other's for fear he might find the fire gone if he looked away a second too long. _

"_I think I understand a little now, Jirou. Different mugs, ah?" _

"_And many different things, Keigo. So many of them!" _

"_Is that why white is your favourite colour, Jirou?" He touched the boy's face and the boy leaned into his tender touch. _

"_It isn't, Keigo. I like purple more; because it's you. It's you when you're happy, and it's you when you're sad; it's you when you're right here with me, and it's you when you're away. I don't want everything in the world when I already have you. You're more than the sum of everything to me," he whispered as he put his arms tightly around Atobe. _

"_But I think I'm in love with white now, Jirou, because it is you. Because you're everything in the world to me. To me, you are the world, love."_

_Then they had kissed and it felt like forever.

* * *

_

"At the present moment, Atobe, I'm sure that you have more pressing problems on your mind than Oshitari Yuushi, and in case you've forgotten, you promised to tell me all of them," Fuji said as he looked up from his glass. "All of them, Atobe."

Atobe chuckled a little as he rested his head against the back of his seat. "Of course he isn't, Fuji. I've already set one of my Eyes on him and the first report will be in three days' time. There was something interesting about the whole setup though…" he paused as he turned to look Fuji fully in the eyes, "he told me that he'd already known Oshitari for years."

Fuji raised an eyebrow. "A friend?"

"Or maybe something more, from the way he said it," Atobe replied, his tone serious.

"And that's bothering you? That the Eye may turn out to be incompetent?" Fuji asked, knowing full well that it wasn't the case at all.

"No," Atobe said with an air of finality. "What bothers me is the possibility that he may come from the other party, and what bothers me even more is the implication of it all." Taking a sip from his glass, Atobe let his eyes flutter shut for a little while.

Fuji's brow creased slightly in thought; Atobe's oddity was showing again. He never referred to the Intelligence as anything other than "the other party", like they were counterparts, or something.

The Intelligence who had been hot on their heels ever since the birth of their existence. Their nemesis; the guardians against their influence on the world. It was almost a romantic idea.

Would have been too, if the reality didn't mean that their lives were being hunted every second they stood breathing.

But then again, Atobe had always been too odd to figure out. Then Fuji caught himself as a memory touched his consciousness, a memory of this one time when Atobe had almost cried as he talked about his obsession with a certain colour. He shook himself mentally; Atobe wasn't too odd to figure out.

He was so hurt he was too out of shape to be figured out; he should have known better. They're the same. Not two sides of the same coin, but the very same side.

"You're worried about how much they know," Fuji said quietly, though extremely pointedly.

"Yes." Atobe's answer was just as straightforward and for a moment Fuji was caught off guard. "Or, more specifically, how much he knows."

When Atobe opened his eyes again Fuji thought he caught a fleeting distant look in those grey depths, but he couldn't be sure. He had other things on his mind.

"You always talk about this 'he', but you never tell me who it is; all I've made out these years is that he's in the Intelligence. And you don't ever mention him to the others. Why?" Fuji placed his glass on the table before him. "And more importantly, why do you tell me about him when you have no intention of letting me know who he is?"

Atobe did not hesitate like Fuji had expected him to.

"The same reason you decided to follow me all those years ago, right after I burnt your world to ashes, literally." Something unfathomable flashed in his eyes as he said these words, and it was cold.

Fuji thought he understood. A little.

"I see," he replied simply.

But he really didn't; all he had was an inkling, that's all.

An awkward silence crept into the room and nestled there. Fuji stared intently at Atobe while the latter stared right back, gently swirling his glass. Countless unasked questions hung between them and the air felt suddenly felt to solid to be inhaled.

Unconsciously Fuji started to shift slightly in his seat, still keeping eye contact and waiting. Though he wasn't sure if there was anymore to come after that revelation, which, of course, didn't reveal very much. But it was more than the man had ever revealed to him about this mysterious 'he'.

He could never quite be himself in the presence of Atobe, and he never figured out why. Maybe it had something to do with what had happened eleven years ago, or maybe deep inside he had never really gotten over his fear of this man.

Eleven years could pass very quickly.

He shook himself mentally focused once again on the dangerously beautiful man before him. What you felt inside didn't necessarily need to be reflected in your appearance, and eleven years was more than enough time to practice this to perfection.

"Of course, there's still this," Atobe started to speak again, waving the awkwardness aside indifferently as he picked up a single leaflet from one of his piles. It was as if there hadn't been any awkwardness in the first place.

"An assignment, ne?" Fuji asked slowly. "Ryoma said you mentioned something about an assignment on the phone."

"Of course I did; it's only natural. What I didn't mention, however, is what bothers me more, Fuji." He waved the leaflet before his face as he got to his feet. He made his way gracefully around his table to move towards where Fuji was sitting; his movements were so smooth it was as if he was gliding. "Why don't you take a look, ahn?"

The man tossed the thin wad of paper disdainfully onto the coffee table before Fuji. It was as if the mere touch of it disgusted him.

"Go on. Take a look, Fuji," Atobe said offhandedly as he turned to get himself a refill across the room. Not before Fuji caught the rage burning high in those beautiful grey orbs.

_That bad, huh?_

Then Fuji leaned forward to pick the sheet up. It was a fax and coded as usual. They had an encoding system that was even more complex than the Intelligence's and the codes were changed every other week for security reasons. But he was used to them now, and the codes were no more complicated to him than the alphabet was to an adult.

And what he was reading left him speechless. It was the long years of training that helped him school his face into a study of blankness, but what he really wanted to do was to scream. Taking a long steadying breath, he looked up to see Atobe studying him closely, eyes still alight with his emotions.

"That's not all, is it, Atobe?"

A twisted smile graced Atobe's lips as he shook his head slowly.

"No, it isn't, Fuji." He took a seat beside Fuji and turned slightly so that they were facing each other. "There's much more, Fuji, and they're much worse than this."

Fuji blinked slowly.

"Go ahead, Atobe. I think I'm ready."

* * *

"You're early, Ryoma-kun," Ann chirped as she nodded her thanks to the butler who had taken her coat for her, watching the boy casually make his way into the hall out of the corner of her eyes.

"Hi, Ann-chan," Ryoma returned with a nod before throwing himself onto one of the couches available in the spacious hall. Ann felt herself smile a little at the address. Ryoma really had no call addressing her like that; not only was she older and more senior than him, she was also more competent than him, though this would probably change in the near future given his stellar performance so far. But she had gotten used to it now. The kid was a total rip-off of his mentor and Fuji Syuusuke had never been known for his sense of propriety; it was only natural that he would turn out the way he did. Besides, she liked the boy. There was something about Ryoma that endeared her to him. So she was fine with what he had chosen to call her.

Ann-chan. Not even her aniki called her that.

"Sulking again, Ryoma-kun?" she asked offhandedly as she took a seat across from where the boy was sitting. She nodded to the butler and asked for her usual drink politely before turning to face Ryoma who was presently wearing one of his darkest scowls. "What, am I wrong to say that?" Ann tilted her head slightly to one side, the grin on her face a tad too innocent to be real.

"Mada mada dane," Ryoma groused as he tugged on his cap and Ann's grin widened.

"Fuji again?" she asked leaning back into her seat, crossing her legs elegantly. With Ryoma, it was always because of Fuji, always about Fuji.

"I'm not sulking."

"I can totally see that, Ryoma-kun," Ann replied smoothly, pausing a little to thank the butler for her drink.

Ryoma's face darkened even more. "Not you too. Don't you dare tease me like that, Ann-chan," he said through gritted teeth, eyes hidden in the shadow cast by the rim of his cap. Ann sipped her drink thoughtfully as she observed the boy before her, pondering over his words.

"Is that a threat, Ryoma-kun?" Ann asked quietly. Ryoma did not reply but she already knew the answer. It was a plea and Ann had heard too many of them from him over the years; Ryoma was too young to be issuing threats like that. And too kind, still; secretly, Ann sometimes wondered why the boy ever set foot in this world of theirs in the first place. He was a good child and good children deserved better.

_Probably the same reason you did; except that she had never been the good child she should have been._

Sometimes Ryoma tried too hard, and she was the only one to ever see that.

The only one to truly understand.

"You want a drink too? Oshitari must have been hard on you, and Fuji must have been his usual self," she said softly as she handed her drink to Ryoma, removing her straw from the glass in the process.

"You know?" Ryoma peeked up from under his cap.

"It's not that hard to figure out, is it? You live in a very small world, Ryoma-kun, and it makes you very easy to be figured out." Ann was still wearing a smile though it no longer held any of its previous mischief.

"Che." Ryoma reached for the glass she held out to him and took a sip. "Mada mada dane," he mumbled and drank a little more.

Ann chewed absently on her straw as she watched the boy drain her glass. Not that she minded, of course; she could always ask for another glass. There were other things on her mind, now that the cap was a little askew and more of his face was visible; the fresh cut on the boy's forehead for example.

"He hit you again?"

Ryoma blinked slowly as if not understanding. Ann tapped a finger against her forehead. "Don't bother denying it; the cut is new." Her voice was still soft but her eyes radiated with an iron firmness that reminded Ryoma time and again of her status among them.

He couldn't lie when she looked at him like that. Not when she was so truly concerned about him.

"No more than the usual," Ryoma whispered as he gazed intently into the glass.

"You fought before coming?"

He fiddled with the glass in silence and she didn't press him.

"Let me take a look."

"No."

Ann caught a flash in those golden eyes as the boy's head snapped up.

"Okay." She continued to chew absently on the straw as Ryoma returned his gaze to the glass.

And silence filled the hall as they continued to wait.

* * *

"The worst kind of them all is the kind that double-crosses. I will tolerate no such nonsense and rest assured that the culprit will die a most creative death by me, personally," Atobe finished quietly. His knuckles had turned dead white on his glass.

"So Kaidoh and Kamio were betrayed. By one of our Eyes in the Intelligence." Fuji's voice was hard enough to cut steel as he digested the information. "You want me on the case?" he asked softly though his eyes had turned to ice.

"There's no need, Fuji; ore-sama has already gotten it covered. You're needed for more important matters than this," Atobe said lightly as he tossed his head to the side almost nonchalantly. But the fire continued to burn in his eyes.

Atobe hated being betrayed; he really did. He had been through it too many times to tolerate even its merest suggestion. Fuji knew exactly how it felt.

Betrayal. The word hung in the air foully and made the air stale.

"Ore-sama will deal with the despicable creature, and ore-sama will not go back on my words." His voice was low and silky as he spoke, but his eyes still burned.

A sudden tinkling sound interrupted the conversation and forced both men to look towards its source, annoyed. Then Fuji felt an eyebrow quirk at the sight of wine mingled with blood trailing down the length of the other man's arm and dripping down into his lap. There were shards of glass all over Atobe and still the man remained as unruffled as ever as he surveyed his immediate surroundings.

"You broke your glass," Fuji deadpanned as he leaned forward to pick up a single shard from Atobe's lap. "It's pretty dangerous, don't you think?"

"Ore-sama breaks glasses all the time, Fuji," Atobe returned smoothly as he got to his feet. "And ore-sama will go clean this up now. You want to wait here till ore-sama's done?" He started towards his adjoining bathroom but stopped shortly in his tracks as if remembering something. "Or you can go wait in the hall with that little pet of yours," he added looking over his shoulder.

"I'll wait here; there's no way you're getting rid of me this easily, Atobe. There's more for you to tell and you're not getting off just because you got yourself a nasty cut." Fuji turned the shard slowly in his hand, his fingers testing the edge and drawing blood. "And Ryoma isn't a pet."

"Really. What is he then?" Atobe lifted an eyebrow as he continued to look at Fuji over his shoulder.

Crimson drops fell slowly to the fur-covered ground with muffle thuds and turned a deep maroon. It had a macabre beauty to it, the blood and wine stark against the snow-white fur cradling it.

"A toy." A soft whisper fiercely spoken as Fuji licked at the blood on his fingers. A toy.

"If you say so, Fuji," Atobe drawled as he started for the bathroom again, leaving a distinct trail behind him. "He must be one of those precious toys that anyone would do literally everything to keep in their possession, ah?"

He just couldn't resist a last jab at Fuji before disappearing into his bathroom; Fuji was too calm and it got on his nerves.

And so Fuji was left to his own thoughts, wondering at the same time how anyone could ever be so terribly upset while remaining as poisonous as ever.

* * *

Atobe padded to the sink and turned the tap on. A small rivulet, running softy, gurgling. He did not put his hand under the stream like he should have done, but chose to sit on the ledge of his enormous bathtub and watched the water run. All the while feeling the alien mixture of fluid setting into his sleeve and flowing down his arm. It was a weird set-up, but it was strangely therapeutic.

Almost soothing, in a most twisted way.

He needed this; he needed a respite badly. The strain that the past few days had put on him was taking its toll now. While previously all he had felt was nothing more than a nagging migraine and a heavy lump against his chest, it had evolved something infinitely larger now that he had talked to Fuji.

It was always this way after he talked to Fuji. Always.

He tightened his hold on the bathtub's ledge; the excess fluids had made it very slippery indeed.

If there was anyone that he could place total trust in, it was Fuji Syuusuke. He hated him too much to ever betray him; he would never stand to see Atobe die at any hand other than his. If Atobe was to die before his time, it would be the work of tensai Fuji Syuusuke, and until then Fuji would be his only confidant and best friend for as long as need be.

How convenient. It's all in the spirit of give and take; it's a fair deal. All that mattered was the question if how much he was taking, and how much he was giving.

Atobe thought he was going to be sick, but it's something he was already used to.

The problem was that he had started to take more than he had ever planned to, and he wasn't sure if his budget was enough to cover it; he didn't want to die a man in debt. Yet the more he held back, the more he felt the need to spill all. Everything that he had had to carry all by himself all these years, everything that had made him who he was today. And he wanted to tell Fuji about him, the man that took away his life and replaced it with something else with even blinking.

The man who played God and truly believed himself to be one; the man who had destroyed so many lives, and was going to destroy just a few more with this new assignment.

He brought a fist down onto the ledge he was sitting on with a sickening crack. He didn't even feel the pain.

Akutsu had been the first to go. Now it's the others' turn. Kaidoh. Ann. Ryoma. Fuji. And many others in the Intelligence that he wouldn't even know about. Lives would be sacrificed in more ways than one and Atobe wasn't sure if the sickening feeling him was due to the lack of food or the urge to just break down and cry.

Then he caught himself.

_Cry?_ An amused chuckle escaped him. That he would even think of crying for someone as inconsequential as them was a brilliant joke in itself. But then again, he wouldn't really mind shedding a tear or two for them, seeing that they were about to go through just exactly what he had all those years ago. Maybe it could make up for the tears he should have shed so many years ago, but did not.

Maybe it could help him convince himself that even though the old him had died, there was still a shadow left behind and so he could still hope.

Maybe he was just sad that he was turning into something like that man, sending his companions to their utter doom and not doing anything about it.

Maybe.

There were many maybes and as much as he was inclined to, Atobe refused to count their numbers; he refused to confess his confusion to himself. That way, he could continue to live his empty shell of a life without harbouring any pointless doubts about anything.

That way, he could continue to deceive himself into thinking that everything was just as it should be.

Beyond the door, music started to play.

Atobe shook himself mentally as strains of the music being played drifted into the bathroom. His eyes started to widen as he recognized the all-too-familiar melody. It was part of a compilation of the Latin concert he had attended over a year ago.

It was his favourite CD.

"Damn you, Fuji," Atobe cursed fiercely as he sprang up from his perch and started to rinse his cut off almost savagely, reminding himself once again not to leave his most precious possessions in their usual places whenever he planned on ticking a certain tensai off.

Oshitari rubbed at his nose delicately; he reasoned that he must have caught a cold if he was sneezing this much. He was too pragmatic

* * *

to ever believe in those superstitions where they claimed that you sneezed when others were talking about you behind your back.

_Too childish_.

As he started to reach for his handkerchief he heard the door bell ring. He wondered briefly if he should report the arrival of Tachibana Ann to Atobe, but then decided against it since his employer was most probably still engaged in serious conversation with Fuji Syuusuke. Well, it didn't matter to him anyway, even though he would probably have given anything to hear just what they were talking about exactly. He had his duties to fulfill and they were his top priority. All other scraps of information were bonuses, and so he didn't really bother with them unless he was absolutely sure that they were safe. That was why he hadn't once tried to eavesdrop on any of these private sessions to date; it was too dangerous.

Besides, Atobe Keigo had already started to suspect him. If he even trusted him in the first place, that was. It would be most foolish to place your foot right in the spot where you suspected a trap to be.

Heaving a small sigh, Oshitari got up from his seat to get himself a drink in hopes of soothing the mild headache that had started up at the back of his head. Rubbing the back of his head in slow circles, he thought about the queer fax that had Atobe this jumpy for days. It had been a quick glimpse that he had sneaked when Atobe wasn't looking, and the content still baffled him till now. And he used to be one of the best at deciphering encrypted messages back then, before he was entrusted with this mission.

The cold drink soothed him a little. Just a little.

Then his phone started to ring. One look at the screen showed that the call came through his private line.

"Gakuto." He was surprised at how glad he was to receive a call form the feisty redhead.

"Hey Yuushi, how's work?" Oshitari could almost see the grin on his lover's face as he asked the standard question that he asked every single time despite already knowing the answer to it.

But Oshitari didn't feel like giving the usual response tonight.

"Wish you were here," he said softly into the phone and was surprised once again that he actually meant it. On the other end of the phone, Mukahi Gakuto chuckled as he twined the wire around his index finger.

"Wanna go out tomorrow?"

Oshitari rubbed the back of his head again. "I'm in the middle of work, Gakuto," he explained slowly with just the barest trace of exasperation evident in his voice.

"That's why all you have to say is 'yes' or 'no', Yuushi. We can arrange everything else later," Gakuto replied in the perfect imitation of Oshitari's tone. He waited patiently for the answer.

"Alright then. Lunch?"

"Okay, fine! Meet me at the usual place then!"

Then the call ended.

Oshitari replaced the receiver and felt his headache slowly ebb away, grinning unconsciously as he got back to work.

* * *

Fuji smiled to himself as he tapped his feet to the rhythm of the Latin music that Atobe loved so much, knowing full well that it wouldn't be too long before the other man burst out of his bathroom in a fury that was totally different from before though no less intense. A small chuckle of anticipation escaped from him as he kept his eyes firmly trained on the locked door before him.

He did not notice the fax coming through. If he had, he would have been puzzled by the single sentence printed on it anyway.

It read: _It is only foolish to put your foot in a trap when you know that there's a trap; he's no fool, just blind.

* * *

_

A/N: Is there anyone still waiting for this fic? _wonders... _I took a long while to update, ne? Gomen gomen! Writer's block and school kill when combuned. X( I hoped to get a little further in this chapter but here we are, stuck again. Well, I hope to bring Kaidoh and the rest in soon or this is going to become some sort of long, never-ending soap opera. XD Hope this chapter was enjoyable as well... haha. 


	5. four: facade

disclaimer: i do not own Pot. i wish i did though...

* * *

**Four: Facade**

_Appearances can be deceiving, but do you really want to look below the surface? Aren't you afraid of what you might find lurking under that mask? Are you really deceived, or is it just a trick of you mind? Can you be sure that it is a mask that you see before you?_

_Maybe you don't really want to look too closely, because deep in your heart you want to be deceived. You just don't want to admit it. _

_Maybe you're just imagining it to be a mask. When it is not. You just want to keep your distance because you think it'll be like going too near to the sun. You think you may get burned. _

_But will you really?_

_It's all in the mind, you see. It's all just a trick of the eye; one moment you see it and the next moment you don't. And you don't really know if it's real. _

_And you don't really care. _

_Do you?

* * *

_

The darkness he sat in was absolute; he was sitting in blackness. Alone, as he waited for he wasn't sure what. But then again, he knew just exactly what he was waiting for, just that he wasn't sure if it was really coming at all. Or if it was, when it would be coming. Because he didn't know the time anymore.

He had lost track of time for a long while now; he had smashed the only clock in his office to bits some time ago along with the only watch he had. A man whose days were numbered didn't need to be told how close he was to the end.

It just wasn't necessary, which made the things that were increase in importance drastically.

For him, time had effectively stopped just at the exact moment the clock had burst into smithereens on his spotless floor of his office. The moment his watch had been crushed with a sickening crack under his shoe. But time of course went on just as it should; time waited for no man, and especially not a man who foolishly and childishly thought that crushing timepieces would affect its passage at all.

Time went on as normal, just not for him. At least that was what he liked to tell himself in his worst moments of madness. Which occurred more often than he'd like them to.

But it should be long past midnight now, he thought as he mentally went over the papers covered with his scribbles again, arriving at the same conclusion as he had countless times before. Again and again, the same name haunted him, the answer to the torment he had been suffering from for the past few days.

_Oishi Shuichirou. _

Biting lightly at his lower lip, he threw back his head languidly. Tapping the tip of his pen against the sleek tabletop as he rocked slowly back and forth in his chair, he thought over the numerous events that had transpired in the past few days as he waited. Events that he would rather not think about.

_Failures. _

That Kaidoh would let himself be caught had been unthinkable, but the fact that there had been a traitor among them had been beyond impossible. It wasn't just Atobe who had been unpleasantly surprised- shocked even- he too had not reacted well to the matter either. One could say that they were both getting too comfortable and letting their guards down just a tad too much, but the bottom line was that no one ever dared to mess with them like this.

Not if they valued their lives, or the lives of the ones they loved the most.

It just wasn't heard of; even they thought twice before defying themselves. Atobe knew this as well as he did; this was how he lost everything important to him after all. Because once upon a time Atobe had had the guts to defy him and thought too highly of himself back then, believing that he could protect his fragile little world in his ignorance. He had learnt not to make such foolish assumptions at a very heavy price.

And Oishi should know better, if it was indeed him who betrayed them.

Or he would pay the price, as he had before.

And a high price at that too, if he loved Kikumaru Eiji that much; they would have to take precautions against any possible chances of him killing himself. It would be a horrible waste of resources if he did.

After all, merely killing the lover would be too easy on the first man to ever attempt double-crossing the two of them.

But really, he should have known better than to anger not only Atobe but also him this way. Atobe alone would be able to make him suffer for as long as it took, and Atobe was an unforgiving man. But he, as Oishi must know from working under him for this long, didn't even know the meaning of that word.

A soft gentle smile touched his lips.

He would make him wish that he had never lived to begin with, and if others had to suffer just as much in the process then it was all the better. The more people suffering the better; it didn't matter even if they had absolutely nothing to do with the betrayal. They were all part of one entity to him; they were the world beyond the sphere he lived in. And when the world dared to incur his anger like this, then the world would have to pay dearly indeed until he was sated again.

It was only fair.

He could do anything he wanted with them, and he would. Most people were no better than trash anyway, and those that were, made good pawns in his little game. Some of them may eventually gain importance, like Atobe Keigo did, but he had no qualms about breaking them whatsoever; there would always be others to take their places.

They owed him this.

The world owed him this; it wasn't fair to him when he had to grow up in an unforgiving world either. They owed him, and he wasn't about to let the debt go anytime soon. He'd even factored in the interest.

It wasn't fair, but it would be only fair to do so.

Nothing was ever fair, after all.

He giggled a little and gave himself a little whirl in his chair. Someone would be very dead before he was done this time. Vengeance was always sweet no matter who the target was.

His vision was swimming now and his head was drumming a deadly rhythm but he didn't care; he was used to this anyway. This, and many other things. Sleepless nights that never seemed to end, fainting spells took him whenever they felt like it, and sudden bouts of madness that had landed him in the Intensive Care Unit heavily sedated for days on end.

If there was hell on earth, it could not be anywhere besides this. Knowing that you're so near to death and yet could do nothing about it; knowing that you had so much to do, could accomplish so much, and yet not have the body or the health to carry everything out.

If there was anything worse than the prospect of being tormented for eternity in hell, it would be the reality of being trapped in this living hell that he lived in from day to day.

But it didn't matter so much anymore.

He blinked slowly, feeling his long delicate lashes brush across his skin.

It didn't matter so much anymore.

Really.

His eyes fluttered close but sleep did not come as he half-hoped it would. That would make it the third day he was going without sleep. But he didn't care.

There were many things he didn't care about anymore.

_Really._

When you learned the hard way that nothing was ever fair in this world, or ever right, you stopped caring about many things that you could never have. Instead you would learn to grab onto those that others couldn't take away.

Desperately.

_Madly. _

Until that was all you had left with you. Because at least you would still have what you had from the beginning. Some people wouldn't even have that because they were too stupid to realize that the world never borrowed anything from anyone.

_It stole from you. Sometimes it robbed. _

And if you didn't fight with all you'd got, you would lose everything.

_Every thing. _

Then he heard soft footsteps outside and his eyes opened as he got up from his chair in one fluid movement, feeling about his table for the electronic key he had previously taken from Tezuka. This was it, then. He had been waiting in his office for so many nights for this, not quite knowing for sure what it was that he was waiting for, sitting in the dark, and finally he would have his reward. Turning the key over in his hand, he allowed himself a small smile before making his way to the door.

He usually went for more subtle methods, but he usually didn't have to deal with a traitor either.

Much less a double-crosser.

His hold on the key tightened until it dug into his skin enough to draw blood.

The office was pitch black, and the intruder was near silent, but he was still able to make out the other man's movements. It wasn't hard for one who had received the same training as he had- the very best. Knowing what the other was probably looking for helped too. Listening to the man feeling through the objects on a certain table that was certainly not his was highly amusing. Drawers were opened and shut, papers rustled through; he was pretty sure that this was who he had been waiting for. He reached out for the light switch.

_Click. _

"Looking for something?" he asked softly as he watched the other man flinch in shock at the sudden brightness. His eyes stung too, but he could still see the stunned expression on the other man's face as he tucked a few stray midnight strands behind his ear. "Oishi-kun?"

He smiled but did not give the other man a chance to speak.

"I'm not very sure what you might be looking for in Tezuka-san's office, and in the dark no less," his smile widened as he held up the key for the man to see, "but is it anything like this?"

The younger man paled as he recognized the blood-speckled key he was holding up for him to see.

It was the key to the prison of Kaidoh Kaoru, whom the mild and gentle Oishi Shuichirou had betrayed three- or maybe four- days ago, and was probably now trying to set free.

And as he started to make his way forward, closing the distance between them with a widening smile, the livid fear on the younger man's face told him that Oishi Shuichirou knew very well that he was as good as dead now.

"Too late, Oishi-kun." He was now close enough to reach out to touch the other man. His long slender fingers brushed lightly across the younger man's cheek.

"Too late," he whispered softly into the other's ear as he pressed a fleeting kiss to the other's temple. It felt surprisingly like kissing a dead body; it was too cold to belong to a living being.

But then again, maybe it wasn't so surprising after all.

* * *

"It's quite late now. Shouldn't we be going, Sengoku-senpai?" Akaya asked all of a sudden, looking up from the magazine he had been engrossed in for the past two hours.

"Hmn," Sengoku grunted absently as he continued to be lost in thought, chewing on the rim of a long-empty paper cup.

"I don't think Atobe-san will be very happy if we're late again," Akaya said rolling up his magazine casually.

"Mn."

And just as casually, Akaya brought the paper roll down on his head. Hard. "So quit daydreaming and get the car started, will you? We only have ten more minutes, you know?" His green eyes flashed in satisfaction as his mentor yelped in pain.

"You don't have to hit me that hard; you'll give me a concussion someday," Sengoku grumbled as he started to pull out of the driveway.

"It wouldn't make much of a difference anyway, senpai," Akaya quipped and despite himself, Sengoku smiled in amusement; Akaya never failed to make him smile, no matter the circumstances they were in.

"You brat."

"That I am, thanks to you. You've been a great teacher in that department, I must say, senpai."

Sengoku chuckled softly as he took a sharp swerve around the corner. "One of these days, you'll get yourself killed for that tongue of yours."

"But you'll be there to save me, right?" Akaya jabbed jokingly at the older man as he brought his arms up behind his head, shooting a sideways look at Sengoku.

"But there will be times when I won't be there in time. Remember Akutsu?" Sengoku said cheerily as he picked up speed. Akaya gave the older man a sideways glance before returning his gaze to the road.

_Again? Does this man enjoy torturing himself or something? Why can't he just let it go already? _

_I don't' get it .I don't get _him

"It wasn't your fault; no one could have saved him. His time was up, that's all. I thought we've been through this already; why are you still so caught up in it?"

Sengoku gave his protégé a lopsided smile.

"Maybe someday you'll come to realize that there's someone in this world that you want to protect, and that there will be someone you will protect in order to keep the person you care for safe. Then you'll understand how I feel. Or maybe not, because you might never fail them like I did." Sengoku's tone was light and casual, but Akaya didn't miss the pain shimmering behind the mask of indifference that his eyes were wearing.

_Why does he always do this? _

"Why do you always angst so much? Makes me feel guilty," Akaya mumbled.

_Pretending that it's nothing when it's hurting him like hell… Does he think I'm stupid or something?_

"I don't angst, Akaya, whatever that means. I'm trying to teach a lesson here, kid. And if you don't want to learn it, then well and good. Just remember not to run crying to me for help in future just because your lover died and you couldn't do anything." Sengoku laughed seemingly at the idea, though to the trained ear it sounded just a little forced.

To Akaya's ear, that was.

"But Akutsu wasn't your lover," he pointed out innocently.

Sengoku rolled his eyes. "I didn't mean it that way; I just couldn't think of anyone that you'd possibly care for with all your heart besides maybe- just maybe- a lover. That's all; don't read too much into my words."

"Oh I see. You're just saying that I'm a heartless little bastard in a nice way."

Sengoku chuckled. "Yeah, something like that; you've really got a way with words, Akaya."

"Yeah yeah. Five more minutes."

The older man smiled fondly at the boy beside him; what would he do without Akaya? "I need only three and a half to get there," he said nonchalantly. And Akaya was forced to grab on for the safety belt as the car suddenly lunged forward; Sengoku laughed at the greenish hue that had appeared in Akaya's cheeks.

Even if they weren't running late, he would still have sped up anyway. But Akaya didn't need to know that. He smiled secretly to himself at the thought and for once Akaya who had always been highly attuned to the older man missed the subtle change in his expression.

As they sped down the road, their surroundings blurred into indistinguishable blobs of colours, and everything around them ceased to matter.

Everything around him seemed to have disappeared, leaving him alone to his thoughts. And he was at peace; that was why he had always loved speed-driving; besides the fact that he was good at it.

It gave him peace, and let him think, which he would otherwise never have time to. And a voice came back to haunt him.

A certain person, a certain scene, in a certain apartment.

"_Akutsu-senpai wouldn't want you to be like this either, Sengoku-senpai. Everything's fine now, so don't worry about me desu. I'll live well for Akutsu-senpai; I'll be fine desu." Taichi had smile gently as he said this, leaning into his hand. "Don't be sorry, there's nothing to be sorry for. He just had to go, that's all. You couldn't have stopped him."_

"_But you…" His hands were trembling so hard now. _

"_I told him it's fine. It's the nature of your job; I understand. It's enough to know that he died protecting me, that he died for me."_

_And he found himself looking into the deepest, warmest pools of brown he had ever seen. _

"_For me, Sengoku-senpai, that is enough. Because in his death he finally said the words he never could bring himself to say when he was alive. He told me that he loved me, senpai."_

_And he hadn't known how to reply, back there. _

_Still didn't. _

Everything outside seemed a whirl to them now; and Akaya looked like he was going to be sick. He could hear Akaya starting to gag beside him, but he didn't feel like slowing down at all.

_If it were me, would you smile that smile for me when I'm gone like he is now? If I had gone that day instead of him, would you live well for me, like you're living for him now? If I were gone, would the two of you have been happier?_

_Would all of us have been happier?_

"Well, here we are!" Sengoku announced cheerfully, looking at his watch. "And I took only eight minutes twenty-five seconds!" He beamed at Akaya who was currently slumped weakly against the door. "Now get out of the car, kid; we don't want to be late do we?"

Akaya grunted weakly in agreement but made no move to remove himself from the vehicle at all. With a good-natured click of his tongue, Sengoku reached over and helped him open the door, causing him to fall out and onto the ground in a most undignified manner. And even then all he could manage was a protesting yelp.

Chuckling, Sengoku got out from his side and looked up at the impressive white mansion where the rest would be waiting for them. "Well, well, Akaya, get yourself together, will you? I think we're just in time!" And without waiting for an answer, he started towards the great doors, fishing his shades out of his pocket. He had barely touched the door bell when the doors opened, and the butler's smiling face appeared before him.

"I believe you're just in time, Sengoku-san," he said with a slight bow.

He grinned widely as he put on his tinted glasses.

"Lucky!"

"Indeed, sir," the butler replied with a smile, "very lucky indeed."

* * *

Gakuto rubbed vehemently at the glass in his hands, chewing absently at his lips as he felt the lingering aftereffects of the phonecall he had made earlier. Calling Oshitari as he did made him feel strangely queasy. It was as if his insides were twisted and knotted and it felt like something that only girls could feel; only girls could feel this weak from talking to a lover.

If that was what Yuushi was to him now; a lover.

_Maybe. _

And it was in a sudden lucid moment that he realized that he missed him.

_Or maybe not. _

An inaudible sigh escaped him as he replaced the glass in the cabinet. In the few months they'd been separated he had not felt anything out of place at not seeing Yuushi; why should he? It wasn't as if he was in love with Yuushi at all. _Or was he?_ But hearing Yuushi's voice on the phone just threw all his past efforts into chaos; it would appear that he really did miss the other man.

Terribly.

_At least he thought himself to be. _

He found himself to miss his touch, his smile, his voice; missed them so much that he found himself imagining hearing a smile in Yuushi's voice as they talked, imagining Yuushi thinking of touching him as they made arrangements for tomorrow's lunch. And he missed being with him, missed basking in the unique presence that was Oshitari Yuushi.

At least it was what _this _felt like.

And all this from a phonecall.

Somehow, this made the lunch date all the more worth looking forward to. _Somehow_. He wasn't very sure why it was so, but he couldn't help but feel just a little excited at the thought of seeing Yuushi again.

He wondered why.

But even as he carefully laid down his plans for tomorrow, a certain memory tugged at him and dampened his spirits a little; there was something else he had to tend to besides the date tomorrow, and it wasn't something that he was looking forward to at all.

_Not. At. All. _

He didn't look forward to it, but he didn't dislike it; it's his job after all. And it paid well.

But even as he gave the fluttering in his stomach free reign, he couldn't help wondering if his feelings were going to affect his latest assignment.

Or if they were real in the first place.

At this moment, they felt real enough. But did he really miss Yuushi, or was it all part of his training anyway_? To blend in with your role, to be the role that you're designed to play?_ All these feelings could be easily faked, especially when the other party was sincere in its emotions; it's easier to get into the role that way. _And Yuushi loved him._ How else could he explain the fact that he could go on perfectly for months without seeing Yuushi, then lose all control with just a phonecall?

It didn't quite make sense.

And all these feelings, all these thoughts. This wanting. They hadn't been here before.

It just didn't make sense.

Maybe he was confused. Maybe he was just too out of touch and he's gotten a little rusty.

_That's all; all there is to it. . _

"Nyah, Gaku-chan! What are you daydreaming about?" Gakuto jumped a little as he felt an unwelcome weight suddenly latch itself to his back, shaking him violently out of his thoughts. "You're still working you know!"

"I'm not daydreaming, Kikumaru. And for your information, I don't relish being the substitute for your teddy bear no matter how much you make it sound like an honour of sorts; I don't really want to be liked by you, in case you didn't catch my drift." Gakuto scowled as he elbowed his assaulter- _hard_- in the ribs. "Bug off, furball."

Eiji grinned smugly as he sidestepped the attack effortlessly; he'd been irritating Mukahi for too long to not see this coming from miles and miles away. And it would be most blasphemous to say that he didn't enjoy teasing his fiery-tempered colleague at all; it's one of his favourite pastimes, for goodness' sake.

"Ow, that hurt, nyah!" he mocked, smirking as he deposited a new stash of used glasses on the tabletop. Gakuto yelped involuntarily as he lunged forward to keep the dirty glasses from the ones he had so meticulously cleaned minutes ago.

"That isn't even remotely funny, Kikumaru!" he hissed fiercely from his compromised position on the tabletop where he had twisted his arms awkwardly to ward off the used glasses while trying hard to keep them from falling off the table at the same time. A good thing that he had a flexible body then; it was something he was constantly thankful for when in the company of a certain intolerable redhead.

"It is for me, Gaku-chan," Eiji purred, leaning against the cabinet and making himself comfortable.

"Well, haha, fun's over now. If you don't come over and help with these, they'll most likely fall over the edge and do you need me to remind you that they're made of glass? Which means they'll break when they fall?" Gakuto sneered and managed to look rather daunting, which was quite a feat given his current position. "And oh, in case you forgot, I think the manager saw you carrying these in. I'm sure you don't really want to know how much they actually cost altogether, do you?"

Eiji pouted and was about to make another snarky comment when Gakuto growled violently at him. And despite himself, he yelped. The fact that Gakuto did not even think to gloat just showed how near he was to dropping those glasses. He hurried forward to relieve his colleague of the excruciating job just in time to catch a glass that had just started its merry way to the floor. They heaved a collective sigh of relief; these things were too bloody costly.

"Nice catch," Gakuto commented grudgingly as he eased himself off the table.

"Thanks." Eiji grinned widely as he straightened and carefully placed the glasses in the sink where they rightly belonged.

"You're off-duty now?"

"Yeah. Taneko-chan's here, so I don't have to wait on those irritating creeps outside for the next two hours. Hopefully they'll be gone by then."

"Not if they're waiting to sneak another peek at some interesting parts of your anatomy; they might stay the whole night, who knows." Gakuto shrugged nonchalantly as he turned to return another glass to the cabinet. Eiji shuddered at the horrible thought.

"Yuck. That's disgusting."

"Took you long enough to figure that out."

"They give me the creeps; I wish Oishi was here." There was a slight pout on Eiji's face as he set about washing his stash of glasses. Gakuto spared him a sideways glance before returning to the task at hand. "But I was the one who told Oishi not to come because I wanted to prove that he didn't have to always worry about me. Still…"

Gakuto tsked in irritation.

"You won't get hurt, idiot. Those freaks are too cowardly to openly assault you here, and if they do, I won't even let them come within a foot from you," he announced indifferently. "You crybaby."

"That isn't very nice, Gaku-chan!" Eiji shot back as he turned on the tap. "But that's nice of you."

"Whatever."

"Oi."

"What?"

"Thank you."

"Hmn. Welcome."

Then a strangely comfortable silence set in between the two of them, both equally absorbed in their own thoughts; only the rush of water and the occasional clink of glass disturbed the quiet.

"Ne, Gaku-chan, do you ever miss Oshitari-kun?"

Gakuto's hands slipped a little at the sudden question. If Eiji hadn't been so preoccupied with washing the glasses and with his own thoughts, he would have seen a large pair of clear grey eyes staring at him like those of a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. He would have- for only the briefest moment, mind- seen Gakuto unmasked, with all of his innermost emotions clearly exposed in his eyes. But he did not look up and the moment passed. A blink and the mask slipped back into place again.

"What sort of question is that?" Even he was surprised at how cool his tone was. How unfeeling he sounded.

"Nothing. Just asking…" There was a small frown on Eiji's face as he slowly dried the glasses with a towel. He didn't even notice the sudden change in Gakuto's demeanor, which wasn't like him at all; Kikumaru Eiji had the reflexes of a cat, and the intuition of one too. That he had been so slow today just showed that something had gone quite wrong for him. Which made him realize that the bickering didn't last as long as it normally did either.

Just what was wrong with him?

"Oi, you alright?" Gakuto asked quietly.

"Mn…" Eiji turned off the tap half-heartedly. "I just miss Oishi very much…"

_Tsk. That again. _

"Then why did you fight with him in the first place? It's only been three days and you're already a wreck like this… Get a grip on yourself will you? It's annoying. If you miss him so much then make up with him already," Gakuto groused as he turned to face the other redhead fully. "Seriously!"

"But he won't pick up." Eiji stared blankly ahead, not really seeing anything, his hands working at the glasses automatically.

"Eh?"

"I said, he won't pick up." Eiji put the glass down by the sink, biting his lip. "He hasn't come home, and he hasn't returned any of my calls."

"Oh. Sorry, I thought…"

"I'm not like you," Eiji said turning to face Gakuto, "I back down from fights that I'm not comfortable with and I'll come out to admit I'm sorry if I do feel it. But it isn't like Oishi to ignore me."

Gakuto found himself bristling at the statement even though it was the truth; he hated backing down even if he regretted his decisions. He never softened when he argued with Yuushi, even if he was blatantly in the wrong. But still, it annoyed him to hear Eiji talk of him like this.

At least they didn't have as many problems as Kikumaru and Oishi had.

As of now, that was.

"I think he's angry with me." Eiji rubbed at the tip of his nose, eyes glazed. Gakuto shifted his feet a little, unsure of what to say.

"What exactly did you guys fight about anyway? Geez… I didn't think he could keep his hands off you for even a minute," Gakuto finally said, tipping his head to the side in an analytical stance.

_They are so troublesome… _

"Oishi isn't like that! He's very proper even towards me, and…!"

"Okay okay. I wasn't being literal… It's only a figure of speech. Don't get so worked up about it, will you?" Gakuto held up his hands in a placating manner.

Eiji sniffed.

_How would it feel like, to be like them? How would _this_ feel like? _

"I just mean that he's so into you that it's impossible for you guys to have such a huge fight in the first place. Maybe his phone ran out of battery, or maybe it broke, and he thought you're still angry so he didn't try to make up…" Gakuto mused, crossing his arms across his chest. "From what I've heard, it was you who started it after all, right?"

"Nyah, I…"

"Why don't you go look for him then, if you can't reach him by phone?"

Eiji blinked blankly at Gakuto, who stared back.

"Well? Say something, Kikumaru."

Eiji's frown deepened. "I can't."

"Why not? You're his lover right? Don't you know where he works?" Gakuto raised an eyebrow in question.

"Yeah but… I can't. He works at the bank a few roads down; you know the one that serves only the very important people but doesn't have a name?" Eiji gestured a little with his hands, vaguely making out the rectangular structure of the building. "You can't go there unless you do business with them."

Gakuto suddenly felt a chill run down the length of his spine.

"He works… there?" Gakuto asked slowly, not quite believing what he was hearing.

"Yes. Didn't I tell you that Oishi is a banker?" Eiji pouted a little in irritation.

"Yeah, but you didn't tell me that he works _there_. It makes the hell of a difference, you know!" He wasn't very sure why, but the very idea that Oishi worked _there_ made him extremely nervous. Maybe it's just his intuition overworking, or maybe it's because he knew exactly what went on in that building.

And it's nothing like accounting that's being done in there.

"It's just a bank; I don't see what's so special about it. Just that it's a bit exclusive, don't you think, Gaku-chan?"

"Yeah. Quite…" Contrary to Gakuto's nature, he found himself almost worried for the other redhead before him; if Oishi was working there…

It couldn't mean anything good.

"If I were you, Kikumaru, I would actually go and see him in his office."

Eiji's eyes lighted up at the suggestion. "Really? But it's okay to just barge in like that?"

"Yeah. Just… ask nicely. For Oishi-kun, I mean."

_If he works there, and he hasn't been home or returned any calls, then…_

"Why? How?" Eiji prompted.

Gakuto didn't really know how to continue without telling the exact truth, nor did he know how to continue without having to answer the essential question of how he had known so much about the workings of a place that in Kikumaru's mind he probably had never set foot in.

But he didn't have to answer after all; Taneko-chan decided to pop in at this precise moment to ask for Eiji.

"There's someone looking for you outside, Eiji-san," she said sweetly as she grinned mischievously. "I think it's Oishi-san."

A bright smile lit up on Eiji's face as he darted outside to meet his lover, leaving a very uneasy and unsettled Gakuto in his wake.

"Are you okay, Mukahi-kun?" Taneko asked in concern.

"Mn...? Oh, I'm fine." Gakuto smiled weakly and waved the girl away. She gave him another of her sweet smiles before disappearing through the doors and Gakuto found himself suddenly alone with alarms going off madly in his mind.

Which reminded him of a certain task he had to do. Contemplating it, he decided that worried as he was for his colleague and his boyfriend, he would be better off minding his own business.

With a disconcerted sigh, he discreetly slipped out of the room to look for an available fax machine that he could use without being seen; he had an important message to send before the night was over, and he might as well do it now before Kikumaru came back.

And before he lost the reserve to do it in his delusive feelings for his target again.

* * *

**A/N: **hi here i am, after a long break...does anyone still remember this story??? i've been on hiatus for a while, taking a break from all writing activities, and during the break, new characters have been popping up and making themselves known to me. so when i started on this again, it is with a few additions that weren't planned for initially. sengoku and akaya, for example, weren't supposed to show up at all here. and niou and yagyuu -who would be appearing soon- weren't part of this story at first either. haha...

there wasn't any trace of the protagonists in this chapter, even though i really wanted to put them in somewhere. but for the sake of plot development and characterisation, it just couldn't be helped. as it is, there are still many people who are still out of the picture. so please bear with me for a little while longer.

for those of you who found "him" to a little unstable in the mind, don't worry. he _is_ mad. i hope that came out pretty clearly...? and as to who "he" is, i think it'll pretty clear soon, once the Intelligence makes its appeareance. but i won't be surprised if anyone has already guessed who "his" identity. haha. as for oishi's betrayal, i'll make it clearer soon. if i confused anyone in the process, i'm really sorry. and as for gakuto's confusion over his feelings, that'll be made clearer in the future too.

and one more thing... i really hope that this chapter was enjoyable as the previous ones, and that it lived up to the expectations of people who have been waiting for this... if there is anyone waiting for this, that is. thank you so much for reading this fic.


	6. five: untruths

disclaimer: I don't own PoT. I wish I did.

* * *

**Five: Untruths**_  
_

_The night is coldest when you spend it lying awake in your bed, alone._

_The night is blackest when you stand in the middle of a road lined with brightly-lit houses all by yourself._

_The night is loneliest when you wake up in the middle of the night from a nightmare and there isn't anyone to hold you, and you tell yourself that you're fine by yourself too._

_And you know that's a lie, a lie you can't stop telling._

_It's lonely to live in a lie, but it's just as lonely to lie as you live. But the worst is when you live in a lie which you keep telling as you live._

I want you, I need you, I love you.

_You don't need an answer, because you want to believe. Need to. Believe that what you wish to be true, is true. Because you're loneliest when the lie breaks, because when the lie breaks, your life breaks too._

_And you break too; you won't even have yourself for company._

_But even as you bury yourself deeper and deeper in the cocoon of your own making, you can't help wondering what the answer will be. Can you?_

The moment I see your smile, is the moment my white flag goes up. I won't fight anymore, I can't.

_What do you do?_

_What can you do?_

_What will you do?_

* * *

Taichi sat staring at the untouched cups for a long time after he was alone again in the apartment. The tea had chilled, not because he tasted it but because there wasn't any steam rising from either of the cups anymore. He wondered if he should start clearing up; Sengoku-senpai had been gone for more than an hour now. 

And it wasn't likely for him to drop by again tonight; he didn't want him to either.

And he didn't want to taste that cold, bitter tea all by himself; he didn't want to feel more alone than he already was. Besides, he preferred alcohol to tea anyway, a secret he kept well from everyone, and even sometimes himself.

Reaching out, he started to clear the table, hands shaking just a little as he picked the cups up. The cups were cold to the touch and his fingers felt a little numb from the sensation; he wasn't surprised at all when he dropped one of them. It didn't break as it hit the floor because of the tatami mats that covered the floor of his apartment, but it did leave a stain as it emptied its contents onto the mat.

Silently, he watched as the stain expanded itself, spreading slowly but surely outwards, soaking into the mat. Sinking in, making itself permanent, making itself too obvious to be missed.

Calmly, he bent over to pick the cup up and brought it to the sink along with the others. He poured the deep yellow liquid down the sink, and watched as it splatter against the metal, then disappearing down the black hole in the middle. Turning the tap on, he rinsed the last trace of yellow away; only the slightly stale fragrance of cold brewed tea remained.

Then he returned to the stain. He stared at it for a long time before laying a blanket over it; this way he wouldn't have to see it at all, this way he could pretend it wasn't there in the first place.

All he needed now was some alcohol, but he didn't move to get any. Then he remembered that he'd finished the last bottle last night, and he didn't have any left. And he didn't like that, but he didn't feel like getting angry with himself.

He didn't feel like feeling anything. If there wasn't any alcohol to be found, he could at least induce the numbness himself; he'd become very adept at it through these years.

When you loved someone like Akutsu Jin, you needed to learn to protect yourself, and to protect him. And you learned that sometimes what seemed to be the worst way possible was actually the best way to deal.

_I love you. _

How could saying three monosyllabic words be so hard that one needed a whole life to learn to say it out loud?

_I love you. _

How many times had he whispered these words, only to be answered with that cold, distant look? In times of passion, in times of anguish, in times of happiness, in times of grief, he had never stopped loving, never stopped saying these words. Never, ever stopped.

_I love you, so, so much. _

And it took Akutsu a whole lifetime to give him the only response he'd ever give.

_So why does it hurt so much to hear you say the same to me? Why do I feel so, so angry? Why can't I feel happy even when you said you love me? _

_Why?_

There was so much blood on the ground, so much blood on him, when he died. All from a little wound to the heart; it was only the size of a coin. He died almost instantly. Echizen-kun had told him that the last words Akutsu managed to say were: _Tell him… I love…him…_

His eyes were still open even though his body had long lost its warmth when they met again. And there was the barest trace of a single tear down the side of his face.

He didn't even have the time to say a name before he died.

"_I love him…"?_

Who was this "him"? Who was this that made his Akutsu-senpai shed the only tear he had ever shed? He needed a name.

_Was it even me that you wanted to say those words to? Was it me that you were crying for? Was it my face that you saw before you died? _

_Was it me that you loved? Or was it someone else that you had in mind all these years?_

The telephone rang suddenly and he went to answer the call. The caller ID showed that it was Sengoku who called.

"Senpai?" he said tentatively, slightly surprised at the tremor in his voice.

"Ano, Dan-kun, are you feeling better now?"

"I'm fine, senpai. Is anything wrong?"

"Just checking on you, because I won't be able to see you as often for next two weeks; there's a new assignment."

"It's okay. I'll be fine on my own."

"Okay. Take care, then."

"I will." Taichi paused for a while, then added, "You too, senpai…" But Sengoku had already hung up. Slowly, he replaced the receiver in its cradle.

There was something about Sengoku that riled him, despite the fact that he had been caring for him ever since the day Akutsu-senpai left him; the only one who bothered.

Something that made it absolutely necessary for him to say what he did, an hour ago.

"_He said he loved me," _he had said.

Something that made it absolutely necessary for the unknown "him" to be the synonym of his name.

For him to stake his claim.

_It's me that he loved. No one else. Those words were meant for me, and me only. _

_He loved me. _

Suddenly he realized how much he sounded like he was convincing himself of something he couldn't really understand. Like he was the enemy, or something.

And he didn't like it.

How could you ever be your own enemy? _How could you not? _

Then he noticed the time and shook himself out of his thoughts; he needed to get to bed. But as he got ready for the night, the scent of the spilt tea kept getting to him. The blanket didn't seem to help at all.

Then he made up his mind and right after getting into his pajamas, he threw off the blanket and started to yank at the tatami mat below it. The mat was much heavier than he thought it to be, but he did manage to shift it in the end. He dragged it to the balcony and with all the strength he could summon threw it over the railings.

It fell all the way to the ground and he was satisfied.

The living room floor now had a portion that was oddly out of place and Taichi could see the uneven cement surface that was exposed. It was hideous, but he felt strangely comfortable with it.

He switched off the lights and got into bed; he fell asleep soon after.

Sometimes, it was better to leave the wound exposed and festering, than to put a salve you didn't trust on it. That way, you could be sure that the hurt was all your own doing and that it was your own decision that caused it.

And you could still be happy about it as you watched yourself waste away.

* * *

The meeting was short and to the point. It was concise, and Atobe made sure everyone understood exactly what he meant when he said that this assignment going to be very different from what they had in the past. It turned to be rather easy. But then again, it was probably because he had had time to rehearse it with Fuji before the others came; the words came to him more easily and his head had become much clearer after talking to Fuji. 

He owed him one.

The task was simple enough: assassinate the Prime Minister; it would be just like any other assassinations they'd carried out before- killing came to all of them as easily as breathing. For this assignment, the differences were what mattered: they had only two weeks, and they were to work as a team, and the assassination had to be carried out at his birthday party.

It sounded harmless enough, but it was a style of working that existed only in movies. A style that promised sure death, and only fictional characters could pull it off without batting an eye.

The way they did things, assassination plots were never rushed through, they never worked together, and they never killed in places that were flooded with high security no matter how good they were; the confidence to pull such feats off easily didn't equate to foolishness.

_Or insanity. _

There were reasons why they worked the way they did, as there always were; actions without reasons were suicidal. Taking lives was easy, but not getting caught, especially when the Intelligence was almost literally breathing down their necks, was a little harder. Every plot needed to be thoroughly thought through and meticulously planned before the execution; you just didn't put something like that together in one day and hope to pull it off with your ass intact.

You needed time, and this time, that was what they didn't have.

This time, the timing, the people, and the place were all wrong.

Working together as a team was an alien thought to them. Teamwork was only important to them in that one accomplished one's given task successfully in time so that another could carry out his part smoothly. All missions were cut up by Atobe himself and dished out to the respective members who were deemed to be suited to that part of the job. Sometimes they worked in pairs, but never as a team.

When you worked as a team, you had more to lose when you're caught.

If you're caught, that was.

Because you'd know more, and knowing more meant that you had more to give, which meant there's a higher chance of being silenced by one of your own. Simple as that.

And if you weren't, knowing less helped you focus more on the task at hand, anyway.

Simple reasoning.

As Atobe skipped over the final detail to move on to Kamio and Kaidoh, he felt a pair of heated cerulean eyes staring daggers into him, but he ignored it pointedly. There was no point in making the others panic more than they already were. Fuji could bear it by himself, now that Atobe had told him the full story. He'll just have to remember to pay him back for the trouble.

Now that the task had been gotten over and done with, the news of the betrayal came much easier.

Kaidoh and Kamio were paired up in their latest assignment which involved theft of classified information that was needed for assassinating the well-loved Sakaki Tarou who had just been re-elected into office as Prime Minister once again. It shouldn't have been difficult because they'd long infiltrated the Intelligence, and those two were highly experienced in this area. But something went wrong, and Kaidoh was captured and Kamio had gotten out in the nick of time, only to have himself landed in critical condition. He was still under observation in the Intensive Care Unit of a hospital affiliated to the Atobe Corporation.

"They were betrayed," he announced smoothly, mildly surprised at how calm he managed to sound even though his stomach still churned at the very thought of the word.

_Betrayed._ Such a bitter word.

Pathetic.

But of course the traitor would be dealt with, and Atobe left it at that; they didn't have to know something that didn't concern them. And if it did, they would find out soon enough anyway.

Then he passed down the necessary papers and it was over. Even he was surprised at how short a time he took to say everything that needed to be said.

With a wave of his hand he dismissed all of them. Just like that. But no one moved and it wasn't totally unexpected by Atobe; there was enough reason to be shocked out of one's wits tonight.

But as he started to waltz back to his seat, feeling rather pleased with himself, someone spoke.

"What's the catch, Monkey King?"

Atobe felt his exceedingly good mood slip a notch at the sudden question; it seemed that someone's head was still clear enough to think after all. Slowly turning around to face the speaker, Atobe struggled to find the right retort to that question. Then he caught sight of how Fuji was now looking at the speaker, and how the speaker was pointedly ignoring it, and the words came into his head.

With a feral grin, he replied, "Nothing that you can't deal with, Echizen."

And suddenly, Fuji's murderous glare was on him, but his grin only widened even more. If the boy had meant more to Fuji Syuusuke, then perhaps he would have been kinder to the both of them. As it turned out, Echizen Ryoma was nothing more than a toy and so there wasn't any point to being merciful towards them.

After all, he'd just made the game much more interesting for Fuji.

"Right, Fuji?"

* * *

Renji frowned as he intercepted yet another dose of the mind-numbing alcohol that the bartender was insisting on giving his friend and placed it on his right where it joined five other untouched glasses filled to the brim with some sort foul-tasting liquid that Renji didn't know the name of. He could feel the hostility level in the room rise drastically at his actions but he couldn't care less. The last thing he would ever do was to let his friend become any more drunk than he already was, and the fact that every eye in the room seemed to be directed at his friend's body just made him even more determined in his cause. 

"So, Sanada. Are you quite done with this childish behaviour? If you are, then perhaps we should get you home as soon as possible," he said quietly as he turned to his friend on his left.

"Leave me alone Renji," Sanada replied grimly as he fiddled with the empty glass in his hands. "Or at least let me have another drink."

Renji was firm as he reached for the glass that Sanada was holding onto. "You've had more than you should have, Sanada. And I can assure you that if you drink any more of this abominable substance, you will not survive very well tomorrow."

"I can manage a slight hangover better than you think, Renji." Sanada shifted his body a little so that his glass was no longer an easy target for his friend. "Besides, I'm not drunk yet."

"Exactly." Renji was using his patient, long-suffering voice on Sanada again as he sat with his fingers crossed before him. It was as if he were an exasperated mother talking to her three-year-old who was in the middle of a violent tantrum and wouldn't listen to any reason; it irritated Sanada no end.

"Your point?"

"My point is that I have no wish of having you get drunk in a dingy place like this where I doubt that I could ever fend off every freak in here that's eyeing your ass. Which, in short, means that I want to get you out of here as soon as possible so that I can get a few hours of sleep in peace."

"I don't need you to mother me, Renji," Sanada said slowly and deliberately, "I'm an adult and I can look after myself." He forced his boiling annoyance at his friend down; Renji was only trying to help.

"Yeah, I'm sure." Renji stared straight into Sanada's eyes without actually opening his, face remaining as expressionless as ever.

Sanada felt his face twitch.

"Renji…" he began in a dangerously low tone.

Renji remained unperturbed by the darkening face before him; he'd known Sanada for too long to be alarmed by the scary face the other man loved to put up when he was losing his temper. Or losing a fight of some sort, whichever was applicable.

"Quit this childish behaviour, Genichirou. Or I'll have to get Yukimura here to deal with you. Would you like that better?" Renji drawled and reached for his phone in his pocket. There was an immediate reaction on Sanada's face and Renji struggled to keep his face straight as he fished out his phone.

It worked every single time; just mention Yukimura and Sanada was all yours for cutting.

"Don't!" There was a sudden strain on Sanda's face which was only discernible to the trained eye. And Renji sighed inwardly as he caught the flash of pain in Sanada's eyes with which he had become more familiar than he liked.

_Not again. Not that again._

"Okay," he said. "Ready to go?"

Sanada nodded briefly and after throwing some cash onto the counter was out of the place before the bartender could finish counting the payment. Renji shook his head slightly before getting to his feet as well. "Keep the change," he said nonchalantly as he shrugged his coat on and took his leave as well.

The night air was colder than he had anticipated and he shook a little, involuntarily. Sanada was waiting in the middle of the walkway, his head bowed just a little and his hands deep in the pockets of his coat. He seemed alright and Renji found himself letting out a breath that he hadn't realized he was holding in.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought him up like that. I was too insensitive," Renji said with just a tinge of guilt as he walked up to his friend.

Sanada shook his head slightly. "It worked, didn't it?" his voice was quiet but the bitterness in the words didn't escape Renji at all. "It bloody works every single time."

Renji wasn't sure if Sanada wanted a reply to that so he remained silent as they started for the parking lot.

_Sanada. _

Then Sanada was chuckling all of a sudden and Renji jumped.

"Renji, do you think he would actually come if you called?" Sanada asked as the chuckles died down. He didn't turn to look at Renji, but continued to stare straight ahead towards their destination. "All these times when you threatened to call him, would he have bothered if you actually called?"

Sanada sounded so normal that Renji was actually alarmed.

_Sanada…_

"I don't know," Renji answered quietly and he thought he saw Sanada flinch, "but I'm sure he'll be concerned; he's your friend too. He won't want you to hurt yourself like this either." He even smiled for good measure, but his words sounded empty even to himself.

_Friend… huh? Who am I kidding?_

"No, I'm sure he won't." Sanada stopped by his car and reached for his keys. "Thanks for tonight anyway, Renji. I'll see you tomorrow." He didn't look back as he got into the car. With a nodded 'goodnight', Renji continued making his way to the bus stop.

Maybe he really should have let Sanada get drunk this once; just this once wasn't going to get him killed.

Because his feelings might get him first.

Heaving a heavy sigh, Renji lowered himself onto the cold metal seats at the bus stop and waited for his bus to come.

_Sanada and… Yukimura._

Renji brushed at his bangs in irritation; he would never figure those two out. They weren't lovers, but they weren't friends either, and they definitely weren't enemies. And they were just too involved with each other to be brushed off as casual acquaintances. In fact, he seriously doubted if those two could actually figure themselves out.

They were a horrible mess.

And strangely neither seemed to be in any hurry to resolve it; he just didn't get it. He swore to heaven that if it wasn't the immense pain reflected in the eyes of the usually unmovable Sanada, he would have washed his hands of them a long time ago. Seriously.

But.

_You're the biggest fool in the world, Sanada, if you still can't see what Yukimura is doing. He doesn't love you, and he doesn't love anyone else; he doesn't even love himself for goodness sake._

A sudden flash of headlights brought Renji back to reality; his bus was here. Getting to his feet quickly, he flagged the bus down. He found a seat quickly and even before the bus started moving, he found himself drifting to sleep. It was rather surprising; he hadn't really expected a night out with Sanada to be this tiring. Even though he had been chaperoning his friend ever since the start of this messy relationship.

_Drats._

"You really love him, don't you, Genichirou?" he whispered sleepily just before he went over the brink of consciousness, his question lost in the errant whirring-sounds the air-con made.

* * *

He wanted to go home. He wanted to be somewhere other than this, where he could be with Fuji and Fuji alone and not be disturbed by other inconsequential people like Atobe Keigo. Somewhere, where Fuji belonged to no one but him, where Fuji had no one to answer to but him, where… 

_Where I can finally… finally…_

He didn't complete the sentence, didn't know how to. Because he wasn't sure what it was that he wanted either, only that he_ wanted_.

_Craved. _

_Desired. _

For something that was just beyond his reach, beyond his understanding. It was there, he could feel it, growing and growing in him, but at the same time it wasn't.

It was a feeling. A feeling that was so intense it hurt, and he felt as if he was breaking into a million little pieces. And he wanted every bit of it. The hurt, the pain, and the suffering, all of it.

_I want you. _

"I'm going to walk," Ryoma mumbled as he brushed past Fuji on his way out. The older man didn't stop him, nor did he respond to his words. He just sipped passively at his drink.

Fuji didn't even look when he left the room.

Which was just as well for him. As he reached the top of the stairs he saw Ann getting her coat by the door; he started walking faster.

"Ryoma?" Ann looked up in surprise as Ryoma caught up with her. He didn't look up but the concern was obvious in her voice; he could almost see her brow crease in that familiar little frown.

He shrugged in response to her unasked question.

_Are you alright?_

"I'm walking," he said simply. Ann blinked before smiling.

"Want to walk with me?"

Ryoma didn't answer immediately; he put on his coat and went out before she did. He hadn't known what he wanted either. But the night was so cold; too cold to be walking alone. Too quiet.

"Well?" Ann asked as she stepped out of the huge house and closed the door gently behind them.

"You are so slow," Ryoma grumbled, tugging at the brim of his cap. "Let's go."

Ann watched as the younger boy start to walk away, face unreadable and half-hidden by her shades, immersed in thoughts of her own.

"Oi! You coming or not?" Ryoma stopped to throw a glare at her. Ann grinned as she tucked a few stray strands of hair behind her ear.

"Yeah, I guess," she replied before breaking into a jog.

Ryoma waited for her to catch up before starting to walk again.

From where he was standing in Atobe's study, Fuji's eyes hardened as he watched the two of them disappear into the night.

* * *

A/N: hi dear readers! it's been a while even though i promised to update soon... i'm so sorry! i hope this chapter has been enjoyable enough to make it up to those who have been waiting for this? just a little? anyway, i'm glad that the long night is finally over and we can all move on to a new day and new characters. _laughs._ i'm also quite relieved that i've finally got the kaidoh and kamio part out; i was so worried that i'd have nowhere to chuck that in amidst all that angst... 

one thing to note in this chapter is that i've never planned for akutsu to have such a disturbed death. i really wanted him to be part of the background like all other dead people in this fic, but somehow my muses wouldn't leave him in peace. _sighs_. and thus the entanglement between sengoku, taichi and him.

one other thing before i go... please review! i'd really like to know people think of this fic... and also how i should improve on it. so please spare a minute or two to drop me a comment! please?

and lastly, thank you all for reading this story! hope you've enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it!


	7. six: sometime, sometimes

disclaimer: I don't own PoT, but neither do you. Haha.

* * *

**Six: Sometime, Sometimes**

_When you look into the mirror every morning, who is it that you see staring back at you?_

_When you wave hello to someone you know every time you meet, who is it that you see waving back at you? _

_Have you ever wondered if you're looking at the same person you think you're looking at? _

_Have you ever wondered if the reflection you see in the mirror is the same you as yesterday?_

_Are the things that touch you today the same as the ones that touched you yesterday? Are the things that made you laugh today the things that made you laugh yesterday? _

_Are the smiles you smiled today, the tears you cried today, the same as those you laughed and cried yesterday?_

_Do you ever?_

_Wonder, I mean._

_I don't.

* * *

_

_The day before he died he made a call and reserved a table for one. "For my friend," he said, "it's his birthday tomorrow. He's turning twenty-two, I think."_

He didn't understand.

There, in that strange room of Death, he was more confused than he had ever been. More confused than he had when he first became what he had already become. He didn't know what to do, what to think, what to feel.

He didn't belong there.

There, in that room of Death, he was dead and the dead were alive. It shouldn't make sense, but it did.

He didn't belong anywhere, never did, and never will.

Watching those long, deft fingers run gently over the cold hard body so tenderly cradled in those strong, slender arms, he didn't know what to say; there wasn't a need to him to speak anyway.

Not here, not in the arms of slumbering Death.

He watched as deep grey eyes gazed unseeing upon the frozen face with a warmth he had never seen in those depths before. He didn't look away, he couldn't; there wasn't anywhere else in that empty room for him to look.

He never thought that Death could look this peaceful; he'd never dared look Death in the face before. He didn't want to see what he could never be.

Death was something that he could never have. When his time came, he'd just disappear.

Vanish.

Dissipate.

Whatever.

Then suddenly, those eyes were on him, smiling as if they knew something about him that he didn't know. Shining in a way that he hadn't thought they ever could, almost as if they were laughing, truly laughing.

Laughing as if he really meant it.

_There was a smile in his gentle voice as he spoke. The girl with the sweet voice on the other end forgot to ask him if he meant a table for two instead. Then he made another call. _

"_I want to see you," he said in the way friends said it to one another, "I miss you."_

He couldn't breathe, he couldn't escape, not from those eyes that held so much, those eyes that laughed and laughed at him.

"Why this?" he managed at last. "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I'm atoning for my sins." Grey eyes softened as an echoing smile crept slowly across his face. "Because I want to live… for once, before I die."

"So you work as an undertaker. That makes a lot of sense to me." He looked away, frantically hiding from those unfathomable depths. "It's so perfectly understandable, I'm sure."

The younger man chuckled and he clicked his tongue irritably.

"What's so funny about that?" he groused.

"It's been so long since I've heard you speak like that, Mu…Mukaki-san," he replied, chuckling, stumbling over the unfamiliar syllables.

"It's Mukahi, senpai." He flicked at his newly-dyed hair.

"Does it matter? It'll change again before I know it. Before we know it. Always does. Names don't mean a thing, not to us. Remember?"

_Yes. The very first lesson that came with the very first name; how could he forget?_

"It mattered to you. You always told me to remember the name I had before… all this." A vague gesture of the hand, and still looking away.

Funny, how such unseeing eyes seemed to see so much more, to hold so much more, than they ever did.

"Did you, then? Remember, I mean."

"No."

"Why not?" It was almost as if he'd already known the answer.

A pause.

"It's a long time ago," he said finally. Actually, he'd never bothered; back where he came from, they never had names.

Another smile. A sad one, like he always did.

"It's okay, I can't remember mine either."

Silence.

"Senpai?"

"Yes, Mukahi-san?"

"I missed you. Won't you please come back?"

He turned to stare the younger man in the eye, but those grey eyes had returned their attention to the body again. Discoloured strands of hair fell into his eyes as he busied himself with the negligible creases in the well-pressed shirt on the body.

"No, I'm afraid I won't."

"_I want to see you. It's been a month." _

"_I'm still the same." _

_A smirk and an answering chuckle. _

"_Really?" _

_A pause. _

"_No, not really. You know how it is. But I'm still the same."_

_They both laughed. _

"_I miss you."_

"_Really. How so." Not a question, not a statement, just the way he used to talk. _

"_One month is a very long time," he said softly. _

_Another pause. _

"_Time is always too long," he replied finally. _

"_Even a second?" he asked gently. _

_Yet another pause._

"_Even a second." His voice was flat. _

He'd never known that the younger man's eyes were grey, and now, he could never make out the colour of his hair anymore. Years of dye had discoloured his hair.

"I never knew that your eyes are grey," he said quietly, trying to make small talk.

"Neither did I," he replied softly with a laugh as he got to his feet. "It didn't seem important back then."

Still wasn't. It wouldn't matter any more.

"Too bad about your hair though."

A startled look and a light touch to the head.

"Oh yeah, that." A small sigh. "Sometimes I wish I knew what colour it really was."

He walked around the platform to stand by him. He didn't hide the limp in his walk; there wasn't a point. Just like how there wasn't a point to hide the fact that he could no longer see.

"Why did you leave?" he asked as he reached out to help him along.

The answer was simple.

"I fell in love."

He blinked. In love?

"What's that?" he blurted out in surprise before realizing how stupid he sounded. He tried to cover up the slip. "I mean… when? And how?"

He chuckled.

"I don't know either."

An answer to all three questions.

"You don't know?" An incredulous sideways glance.

Another soft laugh.

"No, I don't. I just did." He turned and pinned him with those shining eyes of his. "I wish you'd find someone too, someday."

"Love..." he mumbled, trying to imagine how it would feel, and failing miserably.

A strange look fleeted over the younger man's face but it was gone before he noticed it.

"Was it worth it?" There was confusion in his voice.

"Yes."

A slow and confident smile.

"How? You left everything you knew. You lost your eyes and your leg. How can it be worth it?"

The smile did not falter.

"You'll understand when you find it too."

"I won't. I'm not like you."

_I'm not as brave as you. I'm not as willing to let go as you. _

_I'm not you._

"How do you know?" he returned quietly. "How can you know when you no longer remember what you're like in here?" He tapped the spot above his heart. "You'll never know until you find the one whom you want to be yourself for. Until your heart no longer beats to the rhythm set for it, but chooses to echo that of a special someone. Only then will you know."

The smile widened.

"I don't get it," he mumbled.

"I know. You don't have to. Not yet."

_They arranged to meet half an hour later, but it took another hour for them to find each other. They were different now, but there they were in the park with their Styrofoam cups of coffee, talking about things that didn't matter like they used to. About the day, about the changes to their life: how it was like to not see, how it was like to be unable to walk like he used to, how it was like to live a brand new life; how it was like to have his hair cut into a bob- he hated bobs, how he had to keep a cat now- he hated cats too, how it was like to have a brand new identity- though it was just part of the job. _

_One month was a very long time. Too long, too many changes; time was always too long. _

_In the warm afternoon sun, they laughed and joked about many things that weren't all that funny. But it was a good day to laugh, so they did; such days were hard to come by. _

"Dinner tomorrow?"

"Yes, it's your birthday, remember?" he returned as he tilted his head to one side. "I want to celebrate it for you."

"Oh okay… see you tomorrow then."

He didn't answer, just waved him goodbye with that usual mild smile of his as they parted ways at the door. At the time, he was too preoccupied with their earlier conversation to realize that his mentor and friend hadn't responded as he normally would. Sadness lurked beneath the surface of those grey eyes, but with that smile on, he couldn't really tell.

At the time, he hadn't realized that he probably wouldn't see him again.

It had been a good day, after all.

_There he was, all alone, sitting at the table reserved for one, with only the ghost of his memories for company. As the clock in the restaurant struck ten, a gunshot echoed through the night three streets down. He didn't hear it, couldn't hear it where he was, three streets up._

_He had wanted to wait, but the waiter told him that he was the only guest that night. _

_A table for one, the reservation by Ohtori-san read. _

"_Ohtori," he had said just before they said goodbye, "my name is Ohtori now."_

"_Just like the bird?"_

"_Just like the bird." He had smiled. _

_Ohtori. The phoenix. The bird of rebirth and renewal. Of continuity. _

_How apt. _

_At ten o'clock that night, just three streets down, the immortal bird died, just as its nestling turned twenty-two. _

_He didn't know what it meant, this strange reservation; he thought he'd wanted to celebrate it for him. And yet, here he was, all alone. _

_He hadn't known._

_The meal was eaten, the wine drunk, and the birthday song sung. It wasn't right, but he couldn't tell why. Not until the next day when he saw the headline in the papers. He would have cried and cried till he had no tears left, but he was at work now. _

_Mukahi Gakuto was cold, hard and calculating. He never cried. _

_And so he swallowed his tears and went about his day, just like he used to tell him to, before he left. _

_To Mukahi Gakuto, it was just another boring day at work; it wasn't as if anyone important in Gakuto's life had died. It wasn't as if there was a heart in his chest that was beating a rhythm that didn't belong to Gakuto. _

_He was Gakuto now, he told himself, and as if by magic, the tears were gone and the day went on. And the day after, and the day after. _

At least it had been a good day to die. Such days were hard to come by.

* * *

It was hours to daybreak and he was ready for work. He wondered briefly if he should have an early breakfast, but decided against it, choosing instead to sit by the window to continue with the novel he had picked up the day before. It wasn't an exceptional book, and it wasn't half as engaging as the reviews made it out to be, but he figured that his roommate probably needed a little more time by himself in the living room. 

_As usual._

A barely audible sigh. He'd give him another ten minutes, he thought absently as he flipped idly through the pages with disinterest.

He always gave him ten minutes on mornings like this. Ten minutes to get himself together, ten minutes to keep away what he wished to keep to himself, ten minutes to school himself into the steely façade he so loved to hide behind.

This was the routine they practiced on mornings like this, an understanding they'd established ever since their university years.

An unspoken promise of giving each other the space they needed.

And time.

As he turned another page, he caught sight of a boy strolling on the street. His hands stilled involuntarily as he watched the boy stop beside a tiny mewling kitten. As the boy bent over to gather the tiny thing into his arms, he closed the book without marking the page.

There was something that wasn't quite right about what he was seeing. Something that made it strangely difficult for him to look away.

It's been a while since he'd last been captivated by a stranger like this.

A very long while.

Then suddenly, as if aware of his presence, the boy looked up. For a moment their eyes met and he was struck by the gold in those eyes. Strange, how clearly he could see the burning gold in those depths from three levels above.

It wasn't right.

It wasn't right for his heart to be beating faster, for his breath to be coming quicker just from a single look. He was the adult here, he should know better.

Then the boy smirked and he was entranced. It was almost as if he knew just what he was thinking. Almost as if he could see through him, almost knowing.

And he was almost ashamed.

Then the boy was walking away, and he was suddenly struck with a fierce familiarity which he couldn't seem to place. He couldn't have seen this boy before, and yet, he must have.

_Somewhere, sometime in the past. _

Then it was six and the clock started to ring; ten minutes up. Getting to his feet, he reached over to turn the alarm off before leaving the room.

"Tezuka," his roommate greeted him.

"Sanada," he returned levelly as he closed the bedroom door behind him before making his way to the kitchen.

He made sure he left the memories of the boy behind too.

* * *

She stood by the window for a long time after Ryoma left, staring absently into the twilight mist as she waited for the cupcakes to be ready. He had looked so small, so frail, as he walked away. 

_So alone. _

A long time ago, she had been alone too. Back then, she had been just a little younger than he had been when he first joined them; a child stumbling around in a world she knew nothing about, should know nothing about, all alone. She had no one, she had nothing; everything she'd had had been taken away from her.

She could still see herself, there, lying in the streets in rags and covered with burns and cuts, watching millions of people mill about her. No one stopped, no one saw, no sign of anyone caring except for the occasional coin which she had been too weak to pick up.

In retrospect, even if she had been able to pick them up, she wouldn't have known what to do with them anyway. Or what they had meant.

_If it hadn't been for Atobe she would probably have died all those years ago. _

She still remembered the warmth of his arms as they circled her and lifted her from the ground, the gentleness of his voice as he told her everything was alright and made her believe it. Still remembered how his touch had been so soft, how his scent had been so similar to her aniki's. How everything about him reminded her of the home she no longer had.

If it hadn't been for him, she wouldn't have lived long enough to see her aniki again.

And yet, a vengeful voice sometimes reminded her that if it hadn't been for him she wouldn't be where, who and what she was now, but she knew that this was an insignificant price to pay for what he'd done for her. For all those years he'd clothed her, fed her, cared for her, stayed with her, and made her believe there was a purpose to living again.

Made her believe that there was a purpose to be made from living again.

Maybe that was what Atobe had intended to do by taking Ryoma under his wing too.

_But…_

"What are you doing, Atobe?" she breathed softly against the glass. "Can't you see what it's doing to him? He's only so small…"

Sometimes, she wondered at herself. That she would be bothered about a boy who grew up too fast when she grew up even faster didn't make sense. That she ached for him when she didn't even ache for herself didn't make sense.

With Ryoma, things hardly made sense.

_Sometimes, when she looked into those clear golden depths, she thought she could see a vague reflection of her younger self, turning away from her._

_Sometimes._

With Ryoma, things never made sense, not with her.

"Ann?"

She returned to the present with a start.

"Aniki!" She turned to greet her older brother with a smile. "You're awake! I thought you'd sleep in a little today, since you don't have any early meetings scheduled today…"

Tachibana held up a hand.

"Correction. You thought you could _make_ me sleep in today by playing around with my alarm clock; I don't have lazy bones like you do, little sister," he chided while attempting to put on a stern face, and failing miserably at it.

Ann giggled and made a face. "If you tried to sleep a little more I wouldn't be resorting to this."

"And whose fault is that, little-sister-who-works-at-unearthly-hours?" He lifted an eyebrow in amusement. "If you came home a little earlier, maybe I'd have more time for sleeping rather than worrying about things that my over-imaginative mind throws at me."

"Well, I didn't ask for you to be worried, aniki," she retorted cheekily.

She was surprised when all traces of amusement left his face suddenly.

"I'm sorry if I can't stop worrying about you. I've been doing it for far too long; I can't just stop doing it all of a sudden…" His eyes misted over, just as if his mind had gone to a far away place she couldn't follow. There was a hollow ring to his voice and Ann felt a lump starting to form at the back of her throat.

_Aniki…_

"It's okay to worry about me, aniki; I didn't mean it that way. I was just joking." She beamed at her brother as she gave him a bear hug. "I forgot that you're so sensitive," she teased.

Tachibana blinked owlishly as if wondering at his sudden slip. Then with a laugh, he returned the hug, ruffling the smaller head that only came up to his chest.

And the moment was gone.

Sometimes, when they were together like this, she forgot to be the spoilt, dependent little sister she's supposed to be. But sometimes, it's so hard to remember what it's like to not be independent, so hard to remember what it's like to not be overlooked, what it's like to not be on the sidelines.

_So hard, when she'd grown up the way she did. _

"So what's for breakfast today?" Tachibana asked smilingly as he pulled away from the hug. "I think I smell something nice."

Ann grinned and propelled her aniki toward the dining area as she started to ramble off the menu for the day, beginning with breakfast, and ending with dessert after lunch.

"I think I only asked for breakfast," he replied, rolling his eyes as he took his seat by the head of the table.

"I'll answer whichever way I like," was the cheeky response he got before Ann turned to busy herself with the oven and its contents.

A strange smile crossed Tachibana's face.

With her back turned, Ann thought that she'd caught a strange look in her brother's eyes but she couldn't be sure. Even if it had been there a moment ago, it was gone by the time she turned round with the cupcakes, so she let it slip. She joined her brother at the table once she'd set the cakes on the cooling rack to cool a little before packing.

The meal was a pleasant one, with much chatter and laughter, just as it should be.

Then the phone rang.

"I'll get it," she said, bouncing over to the living room before her brother could even respond. "Hello? Tachibana household." There was something strangely warming about the phrase and she never got tired of saying it at every available opportunity.

_Something homely about it._

From where he was sitting, Tachibana propped his head against the table and waited.

"May I speak to Tachibana Kippei please? You must be his little sister whom he keeps telling us about." The smiling voice on the other end of the line was an odd one. Ann blinked, trying to figure the speaker out; something about the speaker didn't seem right.

"Yes. May I know who's this calling?" She turned to signal to her brother that the call was for him.

"I am Yukimura Seiichi. It's a pleasure to speak to you; you have a lovely voice."

_Again. There was the smile again._

"Thank you. Please hold on, Yukimura-san," Ann said politely before handing the receiver to her brother, whose expression suddenly turned extremely serious at the mention of the name.

_Yukimura._

Back in her seat at the table, Ann turned the name over and over in her mind, trying to look for a connection. And found none. Chewing on her lip absently, she wondered at the voice. It was so gentle and soft that it was most disarming; it was so polite and kind that it was most warming.

But it didn't sound right.

It was almost as if he was laughing at some private joke under the cover of a perfect smile, as if he knew something that you didn't think he knew and he was pretending not to know it when he did.

It was almost as if he _knew_ her.

Something about his tone unsettled her.

Something about his voice unsettled her.

Something about him unsettled her.

And she wasn't sure of why either. Maybe she was overreacting.

_Maybe._

It was in a hurry that Tachibana slammed the receiver down and got ready for work.

She blinked in surprise at the unusual noise.

"Ani…?"

"I'm sorry Ann, but something unexpected happened, and I have to go," he managed to explain before snatching up his lunchbox and rushing out of the front door.

There wasn't even time for her to pack the cupcakes before she was alone again.

* * *

_How long had they known each other?_

Sometimes, when someone inconsequential asked that question, he'd say they'd known each other for far too long. Sometimes, though, he'd say they'd known each other for forever and amuse himself by watching the confusion such a statement induced in the face before him.

_How much did they know about each other?_

Sometimes, on certain days, he'd say they knew too much about each other.

Sometimes, though, he'd say they didn't know enough, because sometimes, he really didn't know Sanada Genichirou as well as he thought he did.

Tezuka didn't have to look up to know that Sanada wanted tea. "It's a little cold, though," he said quietly as he passed the teapot.

"I know," Sanada replied equally quietly as he slid the milk across the table without looking up from his toast.

_What were they to each other?_

There was no second answer to the question. They were nothing to each other. It wasn't a question they thought much about. Wasn't a need to think much about it.

"I didn't hear you come in last night," Tezuka commented absently as he added some milk to his tea.

Sanada didn't reply as he poured himself a cup of tea.

"I hope you've slept at least a little; we're working extra shifts today." Tezuka looked up briefly from his toast.

No reply again. But then again, he wasn't expecting any.

The phone rang and Sanada went to get it.

"Sanada here." His voice was just a little hoarser than usual, but otherwise, he sounded just like his usual self.

_Usual, huh?_

Sanada sometimes reminded Tezuka of those toys sold in stores that sold second-hand goods. Broken and mended, over and over again, then sold off as if they were just any other toy, just older.

_And more broken._

In all the years they'd known each other, he'd never really understood Sanada, though in a strange inexplicable way, he actually did.

Sometimes he'd realize that they were too alike to not fully understand each other, and sometimes he'd realize that it was precisely because they were too alike that they couldn't. Sometimes he wondered if it was because they couldn't understand themselves that they couldn't understand each other.

_Maybe._

Funny.

"Something's cropped up at the office," Sanada said, frowning as he put the phone down. "Kaidoh's gone, and some strange note came in this morning."

Tezuka moved an eyebrow.

"Some strange note?"

Sanada nodded thoughtfully.

"Something about assassinating the Prime Minister."

"When?"

Sanada paused for a while before replying. "Renji didn't say much. Maybe when we get there."

Tezuka nodded and started to clear up. Sanada came over to help too. They were ready for work within five minutes.

Calm and efficient, just as expected.

As usual.

"I'll drive," Tezuka volunteered as they left the apartment. Sanada had already fished the keys out of his pocket. As they closed the door behind them, Tezuka remembered something.

"Your mother called yesterday to tell you about your cousin's wedding in two weeks' time," he said, "she wanted to know if you'll be attending."

"And?" Sanada prompted disinterestedly.

"I told her you'd be busy."

They shared a knowing glance before getting into the car.

"Thanks."

"Hmn."

* * *

He wondered what he should be doing now. Chewing on his lower lip nervously, he reached out tentatively to touch the silky head before him but withdrew again when it moved suddenly. 

"Gaku-chan, do you know why he said that?" Eiji whispered softly as he looked up from the empty cup he'd been holding too tightly on to. No trace of tears marred his face, no redness of eyes to tell on him, just a vacancy of expression that was much, much worse.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Well, I wasn't there to hear…"

"Do you think… that he hates me?"

"I…"

"What should I do now?"

He buried his face in his arms but no sobs came; no shaking of the body, no telltale sniffle.

"_You know you are truly sad when you have no tears to shed… I hope you never have to go through that in your life, Keita, because it will hurt more than death ever will."_

"_But isn't death the most painful thing ever? Everybody says that…"_

"_Death, Keita, is the end. But when you're so sad that you can't cry anymore, it's only the beginning."_

He reached out to touch the redhead again. No response from Eiji.

_Is that what he is feeling now… senpai? Worse than death?_

_I don't understand._

"I'm sure Oishi-kun didn't mean it that way… He's probably just too busy and needs some time by himself…" He almost slapped himself; it sounded too lame even to him. But at least he was trying. "Hey, fur… I mean, Kiku… I mean… Hey, Eiji, maybe things aren't as bad…"

"You didn't see the way he looked at me, Gaku-chan. You didn't see how he started to cry… He said so many things, things I didn't understand, and he wouldn't slow down. And he was crying, and Oishi never cries…" Eiji paused and took a deep breath. "It's over, Gaku-chan, it's over and I don't even know why."

He still wasn't crying, and Gakuto still had no idea what to do. He remembered a certain day, a certain conversation he had, with a certain mild-mannered Oishi Shuichirou, and without really knowing why, found himself feeling strangely exasperated.

_Oishi… Just what is going on? Don't you… don't you love Eiji? Don't you want to be with him forever? Don't you want to be with him for longer than forever? Isn't that what you told me before? _

_Why are you going back on your words now? _

_Unless…_

The thought struck him like a sudden reminder. A reminder of who he was, where he was, and what he was supposed to be doing. And it definitely wasn't playing Aunt Agony to Kikumaru Eiji. His hand faltered in its movements, but Eiji didn't even notice.

He must be getting rusty.

_Getting forgetful._

There was a reason for his being here, a reason for his being intimate with the two of them, a reason for everything he'd done for them. And it wasn't to become friends with them. He was the professional here, and it wasn't like him to forget himself in the midst of an assignment.

He must be rusty; it's the only possible explanation.

_But._

Sometimes, when he was with them, he thought he understood Ohtori-senpai's words a little more.

Sometimes, when he was with them, he felt as if he'd just gotten a little closer to his mentor. And the best friend he'd ever had.

Sometimes, when he's with them, he thought he could feel his heart beating just a little different from the rhythm it'd been set to.

Sometimes, when he's with them, he found it easy to believe that he could still find himself under all those layers that'd been piled onto him all these years.

_Sometimes. _

He's definitely getting rusty if he's letting himself get so confused so easily.

"Ne, Gaku-chan, can you hold me for a while?"

He blinked.

Vacant blue eyes were raised to meet his startled gaze. "Just a little while. I promise I won't go weepy on you." He even managed a weak smile.

_Eiji… _

He bit hard on his tongue.

_If you have any idea what I am… who I am… will you still ask me to hug you?_

"Okay," he replied as he got up and over to the other side of the table, "just a while."

_Will you hate me? For who I am, what I am? For what I am doing?_

Eiji nodded slowly. And as Gakuto put his arms around him, he started to shiver. "Thank you," he breathed softly against Gakuto's chest.

"Mn."

And sometime during the short while, Gakuto started to cry.

Eiji was so far away that he didn't even feel the tears fall.

* * *

**A/N:** It's been so long since my last update... I'm so sorry to keep everyone waiting! I really, sincerely hope that this chapter lived up to expectations. For those who _are_ expecting it anyway. I do hope that you guys enjoyed this chapter as much as the previous ones. _laughs_. To tell the truth, I'm actually quite nervous about this chapter because it took on a strange angle that I wasn't really planning for... _sigh_. 

Okay, some key points to take note here... When I put Ohtori down as Gakuto's mentor, I was fully aware of the fact that he's a year younger than Gakuto, hence the reference to him as the younger between the two. But you can still be a senpai even if you're younger; you just have to dabble in the profession for a longer period of time... I wanted Gakuto to have a different sort of influence from the others in this fic. Someone softer and kinder and truer to himself. Coincidentally, Ohtori's name, in kanji, means 'phoenix', which fits extremely well with what I had in mind for the role, so voila! he got the role of being Gakuto's guiding light. _laughs_. And also, the name 'Keita' in the story actually refers to Gakuto, in case anyone's wondering. _hehe_.

School's harder than I thought it would be. I'll still update whenever I have the time; I'm really sorry for my long and infinite hiatus. But please put up with me... it's really bleargh to be a student.


	8. seven: looped

disclaimer: i do not own PoT. but neither do you. xD

* * *

**Seven: Looped**

_I have a joke for you:_

Knock, knock.

Who's there?

Nobody.

Nobody who?

…

Nobody who?

…

_Get it? Nobody. No response. Get it now? That's a good one, isn't it? _

_Funny. _

_Are you laughing now, or are you smiling in that knowing way people smile when they get a joke? _

_Funny._

_I must be the only one to not be able to laugh at that. _

_It's not even funny.

* * *

_

He waited for what felt like an eternity for him to show up. But he'd wait the whole night for him, he thought, just this one night, even though he knew that this was a place of no-days and eternal nights. His was a life of waiting, so much so that the question of _"how long?"_ no longer mattered; he's perfectly clear that the wait's as long as his life was.

He ran his hand roughly through his hair as he caught himself glancing at the doors once again and looked away quickly, chewing hard on his tongue unconsciously.

_Why?_- a question that often popped up, one that he never had the courage to ask himself; he never knew what it was asking anyway, much less answer it. It was too all-encompassing, and he didn't really want to know the extent of his self-doubt.

_Because sometimes it was better to make-belief that you're blind than to face the consequences that came with seeing. _

He never really understood what he'd really been waiting for either. All these years, he'd just waited and had kept waiting, and hoping that maybe, just maybe, what he'd been waiting for would turn up and he'd finally know. It was much better to just wait without thinking too much; then, he wouldn't have to bother with what would happen if he showed up, or if he didn't.

All the _would-bes _and_ could-bes _and_ had-beens_. And the maybes.

Some called it 'running-away' , some called it 'hiding', but he had nothing to call this; he guessed that he just didn't think as much about it as others.

_Keep it simple, allow no room for complications. _

Or maybe it just meant that their wait didn't matter half as much to them as his did to him.

As of now, he was okay with just waiting for him. Waiting, as he always seemed to be doing, for Akutsu Jin.

He signaled to the bartender for yet another drink and watched.

People streamed in and out of the place, the doors swinging open-shut, open-shut. So many people with no faces, all over the place, saying things that didn't matter, doing things that didn't matter. Perhaps he should have chosen another place for them to meet, another place for him to waste the night away, because the night might actually end anywhere else besides here; because he might actually be able to cash in on the promise he made to himself.

_Just this one night._

Because he might actually have an excuse if Jin didn't show up- _the place isn't to his liking anyway; too prudish_. An excuse that had nothing to do with what he'd seen, an excuse that made up the perfect delusion.

Perhaps. Anything- _anything_- to keep the nagging suspicion that came with what he'd seen in the morning away.

But he ended up here anyway. Funny. To go around in a big merry circle only to come back to just exactly where he started. _I'll wait for you at the old place,_ he'd said, just like he used to; he didn't even tell him to come. Some may say that he was assuming that he would come anyway, but he wasn't. All he meant was that he would wait. For him to come. At the old place.

Just like he used to.

Nothing more; time had taught him not to assume many things, so he'd stop assuming a long time ago.

_Nothing more._

And so he continued to wait, with only himself and the ghost of his memories for company. Yet another dose of alcohol burnt its way down his throat, intoxicating him, nullifying the ache embedded so deeply within him a little more. With his characteristic grin, he asked for another drink.

Just to be snatched away by a hand that suddenly reached over his shoulder from behind. He blinked in surprise.

"You're drunk; I didn't come all the way here just to see a drunk." The gruff voice was every bit just as he remembered it to be. He grinned as he tilted his head up to stare into a pair of all-too-familiar pale grey eyes. Eyes that stared back into his as their owner downed the glass of liquor he'd stolen from him.

"You came, Jin," he whispered as he reached up to touch the face that loomed above his. The face he'd yearned for all these years he'd been away, and all those years before. "You really came." He found himself letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding in until now.

"Hmn," Akutsu grunted in return as he removed the hand from his face almost carelessly. He smiled as he let his hand fall limply to his side, already longing for the lost contact. "Well, I guess I should welcome you back then," Akutsu said nonchalantly as he took the seat beside his, returning the now empty glass to him and placed his own order.

He blinked slowly as he fingered the rim of the glass gently.

"Welcome back," Akutsu said again, roughly.

He hesitated just a little before he turned to look at him, turning the empty glass absently in his hands as he smiled with false mischief, "Is that all you've got to say to me? After all these years? Welcome back?"

_Is that all you want to say to me?_

He even widened the smile for effect.

"Were you expecting something else? I have a very limited vocabulary, you know," Akutsu answered brusquely. Pale grey eyes refused to meet his; Akutsu hadn't seen the smile he'd kept up so carefully.

Something deep inside him constricted and he swallowed hard to force down the pain that was welling up within. All the while the smile had stayed intact.

"Of course I wasn't. I was expecting something more. I thought we were at least friends, if not anything else." His voice was cheerful to a fault and he even gave a lopsided grin for good measure. "Come on, I'm sure a friend who's been away for three long years deserve more than just the normal 'welcome back'! At least be more enthusiastic about it, Jin!" He punched Akutsu playfully on the arm.

_Friends. Not anything else. Just friends; friends are for life, friends are for ever, friends are eternal…_

The older man snorted as he reached for his drink. He laughed a little at the reaction. "Hey, aren't you going to at least say that you missed me or something?" He raised an eyebrow in cheerful anticipation as his hand tightened involuntarily on the glass he was holding onto.

He could feel his face starting to convulse from all that effort.

_I don't want to just be your f__riend. And you know it._

Pale grey eyes darted sideways for a fleeting moment to take in those bright green depths properly for the first time in three years and ten hours before darting away again. There wasn't any telltale sign of what he'd done except for the sudden tightening of his hold on his glass.

His eyes were stinging and burning so much that he missed it.

"Well?" he prompted again, straining to keep his face straight. "Did you miss me at all?"

_Do you? Because I do, every waking moment. Every time I breathe, every time my heart beats a beat, I am missing you. _

Almost like an interrogation.

With a resounding crack of fist meeting tabletop Akutsu turned abruptly to face him, grey eyes flashing for just a second before fading into their customary coldness.

"If you remembered what I said to you before you left you wouldn't be asking me this question, asshole."

He blinked at the sudden accusation, smile frozen idiotically on his face.

"What do you want from me anyway? Going in that roundabout way of yours, asking the same questions again and again; what is it that you want? You really are an idiot, aren't you? Three years are too bloody short to make me change the answer I've always given you, so what do you want me to say?"

It came out as a growl, but one that was so cold and controlled that it clearly betrayed all his emotions. The only thing was that he couldn't figure out what they were.

And of course, the accusation in the rough, level voice, in those cold expressionless grey depths. The smile faltered as he felt himself start to lose the strenuous control he had on himself.

_What do I _want_ you to say? Three years are too long; even a second apart is too long. You're ever-changing, you're always different. What do _I_ want _you_ to say? _

_Want?_

_No. _

_Need. _

His heart writhed in his chest and it hurt so bad he almost doubled over.

"But three years ago you weren't seeing Dan-kun like you are now," he whispered in a deceptively calm voice. "Or have the two of you been this close since three years ago?" His eyes shone so brightly it was hard not to see the tears welling up, in fact it would be impossible if he hadn't been wearing those gold-rimmed glasses of his.

But Akutsu chose to believe that the glassiness was only the reflection of light against lens.

"You've known the brat for as long as I have…" Akutsu began, almost gritting his teeth.

"No, I haven't _known_ him. Not in that sense," he returned quietly. "Or do you mean making an acquaintance out of him? I don't remember acquainting myself with any conniving brat of any nature at all in my life. I…"

He was shocked when he felt the fist crash into his face, but he barely flinched. The world swam before him. One moment he was sitting in his seat and the next he was sprawled on the floor with a burning cheek. He didn't even make a sound, but the thud of his tears falling to the floor almost deafened him. He refused to look up with those tears marking their betrayal down the side of his face; he didn't even try to get up.

His fake glasses were lost.

The place suddenly became strangely quiet. He could feel thousands of eyes trained on the two of them, questioning, probing, prying.

"What the hell are you bastards looking at?" Akutsu snarled above him and a split second later the noise started up again. They were ignored but not forgotten, but it didn't bother them. At least it didn't bother him.

The ironic protectiveness in that harsh voice escaped him.

He could feel bile rising up within him and he swallowed hard to keep it down.

"Don't talk about things you don't know; you don't know everything," Akutsu hissed at him overhead.

If he had looked up then he would have seen the unhidden pain in those eyes which were almost always evading his. If he had looked up then he would have seen the way the same hand that hit him yearning to touch him and soothe the pain away. But he didn't. He fumbled around a little, looking for his glasses, biting on his tongue so hard he tasted blood.

A reminder; he forgot his place. Again.

"It's okay, you know? I won't mind if you're seeing Dan-kun, Jin. You just have to tell me. We're best friends, remember? You can tell me everything; I want to know everything about you. I just didn't like your keeping your relationship a secret from me, especially when I'm waiting for you to pick me up at the airport like you promised to, only to have you forget the whole appointment because you had to be with him..."

He was rambling, and he knew it, and he was surprised by how normal his voice sounded. No quaver in his voice, no sniffles to give himself away, and all the while those cursed tears were scorching their way down his face and onto the floor.

_Friends, just friends. Friendsfriendsfriendsfriendsfriendsfriendsfriendsfriends…_

He finally found his glasses, all twisted and near-broken about a metre away from himself.

"I didn't forget. And there's no relationship."

Salty and metallic, with a bitter aftertaste; that's what blood tastes like.

_Just friends._

"Whatever, Jin. I'm fine with anything." He forced a smile into his words, and he almost succeeded.

_Almost._

A perfunctory swipe across his face before he put on his glasses again; they looked as funnily out of place on his face as the swollen bruise on his cheek that was fast turning an ugly shade of purple and green, twisted as they were. Then he looked up, goofy smile in place again, his aching heart crushed brutally back into its rightful place.

"It' just the jet lag making me all tired and weird, you know? I'll feel better tomorrow."

Those eyes were just as hard as they'd always been, and the hand was back to the glass it had held in a death grip before. He hadn't looked up soon enough to see what Akutsu didn't want him to see, busy as he was trying to hide what he didn't want Akutsu to see either.

"Help me up?" he asked, grinning as he stretched out an arm to the older man above him.

Akutsu hesitated for a split second. Then he leaned over to haul him up roughly but didn't let go the moment he was on his feet again; he kept pulling. Until he found himself suddenly crushed against a familiar chest with those familiar strong arms around him, breathing in a familiar mixture of smoke, alcohol, cheap soap, and Akutsu. He found himself burying his face against the coarse cotton of his shirt, clinging desperately onto him as if he might lose him any minute, almost whimpering.

He felt Akutsu breathe against his neck, lips pressed against his feverish skin as those arms tightened around him.

"You're an idiot, Sengoku Kiyosumi," he whispered, "idiot."

_For you, Jin. Only for you…_

Rough lips suddenly crushed almost brutally against his. Harsh mutterings of desperation growled into the breath they shared, arms crushing chests together till their hearts rammed against each other with full force. _Melting, devouring, diminishing._ That was how they kissed, open-mouthed and hungry and all-consuming, as if the other would dissipate into the air if they gave anything less, if they took anything less; as if they themselves would dissipate into thin air if they took or gave anything less.

Pain and anguish and suffering, but no words of love, no promise of happiness, only the prospect of waiting an eternity for something that will never come. Only the knowledge that the night was for the everlasting dance of denial that they would take a lifetime to learn and another to master.

And all around them, the night dragged on.

Daylight never came.

* * *

The park was almost empty this early in the morning, except for the few old men playing chess by the stone tables, and the occasional jogger. With the kitten cradled in the crook of one arm, and a warmed bottle of milk in the other hand, Ryoma made his way to the driest bench he could find. He was still a little annoyed by the attitude of that impudent middle-aged woman at the convenience store where he got the milk; she'd nagged and mumbled things that didn't sound even remotely civil as she heated the milk up for him. He'd considered breaking her fat meaty arm as she rudely asked for him to pay, eyes narrowing in suspicion that he didn't have enough to pay, but decided against it at the last moment and settled on breaking just a finger instead.

The kitten mewled and Ryoma bent to tickle it gently under its chin, and he watched in fascination as the kitten shivered in pleasure at his touch. It made a small, mewling sound which was barely audible as it snuggled against him; it was too small to even purr properly.

He grinned as the kitten turned to lie on its back and yawned as it stretched its tiny limbs in contentment. Bright green eyes became slits and returned to their original wide-eyed state again. Ryoma cradled it gently in his hands; it was so small, so fragile, so trusting. Its mangy fur rasped a little against his skin but its pulsing warmth more than made up for it.

_So alive. _

Cautiously he set the kitten by the platter of milk he'd poured out for it and watched as it lapped at the white fluid eagerly.

_Eat up, kitten,_ Fuji had said the first time he'd brought Ryoma back to his apartment and fed him. _You're almost too small._

He frowned a little at the memory; he had no idea where that memory came from. He wasn't even trying to remember.

_You're my kitten now, Ryoma. I'll look after you from now on. You're mine, do you understand?_

A growl of frustration escaped him and the kitten's head snapped up, startled. Panic swam in those large round eyes. Ryoma reached out to pat it apologetically on the head and with a few blinks the kitten docilely returned to its meal. He suddenly wondered if this was how he appeared to the others- a kitten, defenseless and naïve and gullible. So fragile that he could be broken easily, but kept alive on their whim. A living toy, a form of amusement, something to cuddle up to at night.

It was a thought that didn't come as much of a surprise to him. He was just caught off guard, that's all.

On impulse, he held out a hand over the kitten. It looked up expectantly, trustingly. Then the hand fell and the kitten mewled as it was slapped away. Green eyes fixed their gaze on golden ones in confusion and fear. Ryoma clucked his tongue and motioned the kitten to come forward, which it did with much trepidation. Again he hit the tiny creature.

It was a test of some sort, a spur of the moment, and it was almost interesting to watch the kitten coming back to him after every time he hit it. It fascinated him how the kitten came back even though it could just leave; it was a stray after all, a survivor in the streets. Why was it putting up with the hitting, why was it putting up with the baiting and quelling its own fear like this?

Why didn't it just go?

Coming back, again and again, like a fool…

_You're mine. _

He found himself thinking about certain pair of dark eyes, in a certain apartment, across a certain road. Those eyes, which had watched him as he picked the kitten up, those eyes which had burned with an intensity that was too hard to miss even at such a distance, those eyes which had seemed like an open doorway for him.

An open doorway through which a kitten could leave the house for a while, and then return after its romp; a doorway which the kitten chose to ignore in favour of the comfort and familiarity of the house.

It was his choice, he realized, that brought him back and back again to Fuji; his choice to forgo all other choices. He ran away, but inadvertently ended up returning before dinner anyway, never really leaving, never really going so far that he couldn't find his way back. Maybe he should hate himself for being so weak, for being so needy, for being so small.

Maybe.

It was like a long, long wait that never ended, for something that probably wouldn't come anyway. He could preamble well enough what would come, even as he waited for what he knew wouldn't come; the hitting, the poisonous words, tolerated in fear and confusion and hurt, just so that he could be there if ever a loving pat on the head came.

So silly. So stupid.

_Mine. _

He wasn't sure why he picked the kitten up anymore. Deep green eyes stared inquiringly into his, and before he realized what he was doing, he had seized the kitten by its neck. It mewled helplessly as it was picked up and thrown into the middle of the road. It only had the barest moment to look up helplessly before a truck sped by and squashed it under its wheels.

Ryoma stood and stared at the messy, lumpy smear on the road for a very long time, vaguely disturbed by what he had done. Then he walked away as the wind picked up, feeling rather glad that he'd finally done something right for once.

* * *

It was a small cemetery, almost overgrown with weeds, and it was hard for one to locate Akutsu's grave in a place like this, crowded and messy as it was, but it was almost too easy, at the same time. Just walk all the way in, and look for the only one that was actually tidy, weeded and cleaned, with fresh blooms laid across it every day. The only one that showed any sign of being visited at all.

Sengoku didn't even have to look where he was going; he'd been here far too often to get lost among the tall grasses and crumbling stone. It was as if a route visible to him only had been worn into the ground, leading him on to where he longed to be. For eternity, if possibly. A pensive chuckle escaped him and was soon lost in the rush of wind through trees and grasses.

A single yellow bloom which Sengoku didn't know the name of lay quietly over the grave like a single ray of sunlight, wet with morning dew and shimmering, illuminating the dull grey around it. He wasn't the first to be there, and he knew it. Sometimes, on certain days, he wondered if Taichi had his own path marked out in the ground too, a path to Akutsu that was meant for him only.

He wondered if it would be any easier to walk than his own, if it was any shorter.

"I see that you've had company," he joked lightheartedly as he settled himself down beside the grave, leaning against the stone as if it was a certain strong shoulder he'd been leaning on for as long as he could remember. "It's a very pretty little flower, just like him. Bright and cheery. You never liked flowers until him; you thought they were for sissies." A small laugh as a finger brushed lightly at a petal.

"You never accepted when I brought you flowers. But then again, I wasn't your lover."

The grasses rustled and it was the closest answer he got for his question. He laughed again in return. Laughter, he learned, was the best answer to everything. Especially when you had nothing to say, or no longer knew what to say.

He shifted a little so that his head rested more comfortably against the cold damp stone. Like how he used to rest against Akutsu, looking for that comfortable spot on the broad shoulder as they talked. Or not. Talking, that was. It took him a while to realize that they'd never spent much time face to face, and they'd always been side by side like this. Especially when they talked.

"It's easier to live with you this way, not seeing you directly. It's better for hiding many things. I can't imagine how you'd hide your impatience to get back to Taichi otherwise; your eyes would have betrayed you. You couldn't lie very well, you never could."

_Not with me… not with him either._

A stupor came over him and lulled him into a state of half sleep, as always. Something about this place, unruly and unkempt as it was, soothed him like no sedative could. Something that calmed him, something that cradled him like a mother would her baby. Something that made him feel safe. Funny, but sometimes in his childish heart he fancied it to be Akutsu's ghost or spirit or whatever that was making him feel this way.

When he was more rational, however, he attributed it to the seclusion of the place, and its being undisturbed by people for so long; Akutsu was too aloof, too elusive, to be even remotely caring whether dead or alive.

Sleep overcame him and he didn't fight it. This was the only time he could sleep anyway; his nights were for insomnia, haunted without reprieve. Just a few minutes, or maybe an hour, and he would be up again, going about the day, working as daylight fused into the darkness of night; never-stopping, never-thinking. Until he came back here tomorrow morning, all weary and drained.

His days were not marked by the cycles of celestial bodies, not by the sun or the moon, but by his orbit around this sacred ground where his love was laid to rest for eternity. Away and back, away and back; day after day.

This was how his days were marked out, how his life was marked out. Always, it was about Akutsu; always. Always had been, and always would be. His world revolved around Akutsu when he was alive, and even in his death, the cycle went on. Never-ending, constant as the stars above, until they burned themselves out at the very, very end.

On and on.

And he never wanted it any other way.

* * *

Akaya doodled listlessly on his lecture notes as his lecturer continued to drone on about something gory or other. He was bored, painfully so, and for the umpteenth time within that hour he swore bloody revenge on Sengoku Kiyosumi for putting him through this hellish torture for no good reason. Other than his usual tirade about how education was important for the development of young minds and the likes, of course.

How tiresome.

The pencil tip broke suddenly and Akaya clucked his tongue in annoyance.

He wasn't exactly sure why it frustrated him to realize how little he understood about the man who trained and taught and shaped him all these years, but it did. Sengoku Kiyosumi puzzled him, confused him. It was almost as if he were a riddle and there were just barely enough pieces to give an outline of what the answer was, but at the same time missing too many pieces, missing too many hints, for one to even venture to make a guess.

Very intriguing. Like a mystery novel that revealed just enough to bait you on, but hid almost everything else so that every turn you took was a thrill of its own.

He couldn't remember when his fixation with figuring out Sengoku first started. Probably that one all-too-normal night when he first realized that his mentor wore fake glasses all those years ago. He was only- _what?_ - about ten back then; pretty long time ago, if you asked him.

He remembered that he had gotten a splint in his finger back then and it had hurt terribly. Sengoku had just come out of the shower when he yelped as a needle poked into a wrong spot.

_What's wrong?_- he had asked as he sauntered over with only a towel around his waist and another on his head as he tried to dry his hair.

_I've got a splint in my finger,_ Akaya had replied sulkily as he held out his swollen finger to the man. With a smile about his lips, Sengoku had reached down to feel about the inflamed area for a while before picking up the needle Akaya had discarded on the ground with a surety as if he'd always known that it was there. He didn't fumble around for it even though he didn't have his glasses on.

Akaya had thought this was strange, but the prickling sensation of needle under skin brought his attention back to the task at hand again.

_Done,_ Sengoku said casually as he flashed his charge one of those pompous lopsided grins. _Much faster than you, eh?_

Akaya was awed. He'd spent the entire evening trying to get it out, but Sengoku had needed barely more than five seconds.

_You can see so well even without your specs?_- he had asked in disbelief as he looked up at his mentor in childish admiration. _First the needle, then the splint… you're really good, senpai!_

For a split second Sengoku's smile faltered and in the short interval Akaya found himself staring into the emptiest eyes he would ever see in his life. Like huge caverns, black and deep, and hollow.

He wasn't sure now if he had shivered back then, but he remembered feeling something very much like panic washing over him as he made contact with those strange eyes. He'd never seen Sengoku's eyes like this before- open and unguarded and unshielded by his glasses or shades.

Something in his mind seemed to click into place right then.

Then Sengoku blinked and the moment was gone. Like how a screen could be pulled down to keep prying eyes away.

_Be careful next time, kid. You're lucky that I got it out for you in time. It's getting infected already,_ Sengoku had said kindly as he started to walk back to his room. _Lucky!_

He had even managed one of his warmest smiles, but even that did not distract Akaya from the fact that the man had evaded his question completely. Completely ignored it, pretending not to have heard it.

A few days later, Akaya managed to find out that those glasses that Sengoku wore at all times had no degree to them at all.

How fascinating.

He had tried to make a list of the older man's oddities in the beginning, but gave up within a month's time. Funny, how he never seemed to realize how weird some of Sengoku's habits were in the past, and how bizarre they seemed now, now that he'd started to actively look for them.

It amused him, this game they played, because it'd become increasingly obvious that Sengoku had started to drop hints all over the place for him to pick up on, now that he'd gotten used to Akaya's prying looks, without giving himself away. This was the sort of training he could never tire of, and it was at times like this that he really learned to appreciate the abilities of his mentor.

It was at times like this that he understood a little more about how a Spymaster should work.

_Learn from him, kid; he's the best there__ is in his field,_ Atobe had said to him once, a long time ago, when he was much younger. He'd never forgotten the words since.

But still…

The bell rang and even though Tanami-sensei continued to drone on, no one pretended to pay him any attention anymore; as far as they were concerned, lesson's over and they were ready to go off at the professor's first sign of stopping.

With a sigh of relief Akaya snatched up his satchel from under the table and rushed out of the hall and into the corridor even before the class was officially dismissed.

Sengoku Kiyosumi could generate all the respect he could want in Akaya with his wit and cunning, but it didn't mean that Akaya was going to forgive him for putting him through such excruciating torture on a day-to-day basis.

And in Akaya's mind, Sengoku died a thousandth time that day, by having his head caught in a propeller.

Terrifyingly gruesome; it was the best image he'd conjured up so far today.

* * *

The cat was too hard to miss as he sped down the road. Right there, just a little off centre on the road. There, almost smack in the middle of a drying dark smear that extended for about two metres. At first glance, however, he couldn't really tell it was a cat; it's very hard to tell if anything was anything when it's been so completely crushed and flattened and spread out in such a gruesome mess as this.

He stopped by the smear and got out of the car.

It was near impossible to tell what that gory mess was, but upon closer inspection, he could see the tiny bits of off-white fur showing under the fierce red goop that was fast turning a sickening black, and a glassy green ball that seemed on the verge of melting into the bloody putty. He thought it reasonable to assume that it was probably a cat of some sort. Maybe even a kitten, given the fact that the smear on the road didn't seem large enough to belong to a full-grown feline.

It must have been pretty adorable when it was still alive and meowing; it seemed to have had very pretty green eyes.

He squatted down by the gooey mess and tucked his hands under his chin as he watched multitudes of ants swarming all over the place. Red and black, big and small; there must be at least five types of ants crawling around. And the flies, attracted by the repulsive stench the decaying flesh was giving off.

_Roadkill._

Soon someone would probably come along and sweep it away because it'd be unhygienic not to do so, but they wouldn't be bothered with the dark stain it was going to leave behind. And no one was going to remember that there'd been a kitten which had been run over by some unknown vehicle here. Just like how no one really remembered that a child had been knocked down here, at the same spot, just a few months ago either; it wasn't their child who'd been killed in that accident.

It wasn't their kitten that'd been killed in this accident.

The single green eye glared almost accusingly up at him even as it slowly sank into the bloody pulp.

"Don't look at me that way, kitten. I didn't kill you," he said dully as he got to his feet. "I couldn't have helped you anyway; I can't even help myself."

He laughed with resignation.

"You only have yourself to blame," he said as he crushed the single eye under his shoe.

* * *

A new day had begun. Just another normal day, with the usual pretenses and the usual tricks; another day, with its never-ending monotony; another day, which was no different from just another everlasting night.

The bright-eyed young woman behind the desk looked up cheerily as Sengoku came in, sneezing, and fifteen minutes late. She offered him some tissue and he accepted them gratefully.

"Anyone here already, Chi-chan?" he asked amiably with his professional smile in place. The young woman shook her head in response as she handed a dossier to him.

"Nope, no one's here yet, Sengoku-sensei, but Echizen-san should be here in an hour's time," she informed him after checking the schedule pinned to the small bulletin board beside the computer. He noticed distractedly that she's changed the décor on the board yet again.

"Her appointment is extended by an hour today?" He asked, slightly surprised as he looked at the appointment card attached to the dossier.

The young woman nodded thoughtfully. "Apparently her son felt that she's finally making some progress, and he's eager for her to spend more time with you. According to him, she's finally stopped trying to scratch herself to death." There was a certain sense of gravity in her words, and Sengoku was glad that she hadn't thought it was something funny like many other girls before her.

But then again, Chi-chan wasn't any ordinary girl either.

"Thank you, Chi-chan, I'm glad to hear that. Send her in immediately when she comes, will you?" He flashed her a dazzling smile and she chuckled in response.

She didn't giggle or blush herself silly like other girls either.

Tapping the dossier lightly against the palm of his hand, he turned to walk to his office thoughtfully as he thought over the case of Echizen Rinko.

Echizen Rinko was a perfectly normal woman at first sight to most people, the keyword here being 'perfect'. She wore perfectly well-pressed clothes, with not even a single crease in sight, not even a pleat remotely out of place; her hair was smoothed back from her forehead and gathered in a bun at the nape of her neck with not a single strand out of place; she was perfectly calm and demure with a perfect serene smile, a perfect unassuming air, a perfectly caring voice and a perfectly straight posture with her hands folded neatly in her lap when she was sitting.

She was perfect, and perfection was exactly what was wrong with her. _Too perfect_. It was unsettling to watch her, and it didn't come much as a surprise to Sengoku that she'd tried to commit suicide four times, and attempted to kill her husband too in her latest attempt. She'd tried to toast herself in an oven, tried to drown herself in a fish tank, tried to throw herself off the Tokyo Tower, and tried to inject herself with an overdose of morphine.

Very exotic ways to die, Sengoku noted inwardly.

Almost romantic.

The first time he'd looked at her he'd known that she was one of those who were too far gone in their illness to be treated. She's no longer there, in that body of hers; she's long gone by the time they sent her to him. Sometimes he wondered why they tried so hard to preserve the empty shell when there's no longer anyone inside. Why he tried so hard.

Sometimes he knew that it's because he wanted to assure himself that it could be done; he wanted to give himself hope that his body would live on even in this state and that the living body could become an indication that he was still somewhat alive.

_Sometimes. _

But it wasn't just her condition that fascinated him. It was her name too.

_Echizen_.

He'd been living in Japan long enough to know that many people shared the same surnames all over the country, and it could be just a coincidence that she happened to share a surname with that Ryoma kid Fuji was mentoring. But a single look at her and his gut feeling had told him that she was no ordinary Echizen.

She was an _Echizen_. Which meant she should have been long dead by now, along with her husband and that other son they had; but here she was, here they were, alive and breathing. It just wasn't right.

He had been sure that he'd made no mistake that night; everything had gone as planned.

_So what the hell was going on?_

Stepping into the sanctuary of his office, Sengoku was slightly surprised to feel tension drain out of him; he hadn't even realized that he had been so tense. His office was large and airy, and simply furnished, with a window that spanned an entire wall on one side. The window overlooked the busy streets of Tokyo, and somehow he'd always found watching black indistinguishable dots milling almost aimlessly about those streets rather therapeutic. Pausing in the middle of the spacious room, Sengoku stared out of the window for a while, apparently lost in thought.

The white curtain which Chi-chan had pulled back in the morning to let in more light fluttered a little.

Then he continued to stride across the room to his desk, where he placed the dossier neatly on the tabletop. He placed it next to the dainty white porcelain vase with its single stalk of freshly-blooming carnation. Very pretty; he made a mental note to himself to thank Chi-chan for the flower later on.

Right now, there was something much more important to tend to.

With a last glance at the dossier of Echizen Rinko, he casually bent to unlock a single drawer to the left of his desk and swiftly removed a black object from its confines. The curtain fluttered again. A few quick clicks were heard before he turned fully to face the window with his arm outstretched, a pistol in hand, a finger on the trigger.

"I know you're there, so come out already," he drawled almost lazily. "I hope you have something interesting to tell me, or else. You know the procedure."

The curtain shifted and a familiar figure stepped out form behind. Sengoku did not lower the pistol leveled at the younger man's heart.

"I didn't say a word," his deep voice resonated in the room.

Sengoku rolled his eyes. "That's what everyone says." He could see the other man's eyes widen in what could possibly pass off as fear as his finger applied additional pressure on the trigger. "But you're in luck today, because there are other things I want you to tell me about." With a shrug he tossed the menacing weapon onto the desk and out of the corner of his eyes he could see the other man relax visibly.

He smirked.

Deliberately taking his time, he sauntered over to his seat and sank down into it. Crossing his fingers before him, he leaned back in his chair and raised a critical eyebrow.

_Sengoku Kiyosumi, Spymaster. _

"Now, you have about an hour to tell me everything I should know. Make it interesting, and maybe I'll let you live." He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "You're running out of time, and god knows I've been waiting for you for a very long time, Kaidoh. So hurry now, or I might actually decide that you aren't worth the time…"

And even as Kaidoh launched into a stoic account of what had happened since that fateful night, Sengoku felt an overwhelming desire to laugh. It bubbled up within him, edged with hysteria, and just kept getting bigger and bigger. Like it had before.

It would eventually burst one day, he knew, but it would not be today. Today was far too normal for such an abnormal thing.

Today was far too normal for anything.

* * *

**A/N:** HELLO THERE!!! It's been such a _long _time since my last update. I'm so sorry for the delay, but school's a real bitch and writer's blocks are killers. Nevertheless, I've finally managed to pull through and present this uber long chapter. Haha. I hope this was enjoyable enough to make up for the long wait?

One thing I'd like to make myself very clear about: I do not promote cruelty to animals! I do not condone it either. What Ryoma did was purely for characterisation purposes, and because I personally have found gory images to be very fascinating lately. Stress does that to people, I guess. I sincerely apologise for making any animal-lover upset in this chapter.

There's also a clear focus on Sengoku in this chapter, and I hope I have not confused anybody in the process of fleshing him out. :D I've made him to be a very complex character, and his relationships are no less complex than he is. Do tell me if anyhting in this chapter confuses you... I've also made him put on glasses in the fic. Very intellectual. XD It's just a whim I wanted badly to indulge in; but then again, there is a very valid reason for him to wear those things, so... Lolx.

One last thing before I go. I know it's been far too long since the last chapter, so I'd like to clarify that the 'dark eyes' Ryoma saw tie in with Tezuka's little reverie from the last chapter. Just in case anyone gets confused... :)


	9. eight: past premonitions

disclaimer: i don't own PoT. we all know who does, though... XD

EDIT: ffnet ate up certain parts of this chapter... please tell me if there are any incomplete sentences here! XD

* * *

**Eight: Past Premonitions**

_What you hold in your hands does not necessarily belong to you. No matter how long you hold on to it, or how tightly. _

_The more you hold in your hands, the less you've got. _

_The more you dabble in yarn, the more tightly you're bound as you pull more of the thread into your hands. _

_A vicious cycle: the more you pull, the more you're tied up, the more you're tied up, the more you want to pull. _

_To make it all worthwhile. _

_Or maybe so that you could find the end of the thread so that you could delude yourself into thinking that you might free yourself in the end. _

_That this is just a process. _

_That you have time. _

_But that is the real problem. _

_You don't. _

* * *

It was just a void, a hole filled to the brim with nothing; it wasn't empty, no, it was full. Full of nothing. 

And in this void, she was the sole occupant. There was the shiny orb of course, but it was just a thing, and it had life, so it didn't count. She, on the other hand, was human and dead.

Yes, the shiny orb, which was really kind of huge, almost half her height, hanging in mid-air, pulsing and glowing and shining, and its light never touched the blackness around it. It showed her things, day in and day out. Pretty things, happy things, good things… over and over again. She couldn't tell if they were really pretty or happy, or good… or not; but the words came to her like labels and they stuck.

It was nice watching those things though.

There was a huge house, with many people living inside. Most of them were in uniform, so she could tell they were servants of some sort, but there was a family whom these men and women and boys and girls served, and they were almost always the only ones in the things the orb showed her.

There was a man, a boy, a baby boy, and a woman. And the woman looked exactly like her, except that she was always smiling, and she always had something to do around the house, and she laughed a lot too.

How…

… _strange_.

There were many things that the orb showed her, but there was this one thing which stuck. She wasn't very sure why, but she couldn't seem to stop seeing it replay itself over and over in her own mind all the time.

It just did.

It was a thing in which all five of them were in a bedroom, and the baby was really small and asleep and the toddler was dozing off between the man and the woman, hugging the baby as if it were the softest pillow in the world. The man and the woman were sitting up and were looking at the children. Then they started to speak.

_Theylookso__cuteIcansquishthemtodeath,Rinko. _

_Nanjirou! _

_No,really.It'sapitywedon'thaveababy girl…whydon'twemakeonenow,Rin…_

_Don't spoil the moment, Nanjirou! _

_Oh…whatmoment?_

Laughter.

_I wish this could go on forever, Nanjirou. I wish nothing will ever happen… _

_No,Rinko,__nothingwillhappen.Evenifsomethingdoeshappen… _

… _Nanjirou…_

_I__won'tletthemhurtyou.You,andthechildren,makeupthedreamofalifetime,andIwouldratherdiethan…_

_Don't say such things. It's unlucky. _

_Butyouknowit'strue,Rinko.EvenifitmeansgivingupmyprideandeverythingI'veworked for,I'd doit. _

A tear rolled down the woman's cheek. Followed by another, and another, and…

_Don__'tcry,Rinko,you'llwakethebratsup.Hushnow.Everythingwillbeokay,Ipromise.Don'tyoutrustme?_

She wasn't sure why this sentence stuck with her, but it did.

_I trust you, Nanjirou. _

There were many things she didn't understand about the things the orb showed her.

Like how she never seemed to catch what everyone was saying when she could hear what the woman said so clearly. Like how she never seemed to understand what the woman was saying even though she could hear the words perfectly clear, when she found herself understanding those garbled, jumbled up sentences everyone else spoke.

Like… how the woman was always seemed to be the clearest in those things- clearest voice, clearest features, clearest gestures- when she was the only one to escape her comprehension entirely. Everyone else seemed so blurry, yet they were crystal clear to her; but this woman…

It was almost as if she didn't really belong in those things, but was merely an addition to them as an afterthought.

As if she didn't matter.

It was kind of…

…_funny_.

* * *

_Possession_- the act or state of owning or holding something, something owned or held, the state of being controlled. 

Control, and be controlled…

_How fascinating. _

One by one, they left the room, went down the stairs and left after getting their coats and other apparels. All the time he had sat by the table and watched, fiddling with the minidisk. Strange, how something that held so many lives, so many destinies, in possession could be almost weightless, flipping so easily between his fingers, in his hand.

But these lives were not free in the first place; they were his possessions, free to give away, free to be taken back whenever he felt like it. Just like how he, himself, was _his_ possession.

The weight of the sum of such lives was feather-light.

All value, all intricacy, of such lives could be calculated by the sum of words and statistics, and condensed into a tiny piece of plastic which could be easily played with by any other hand, be easily crushed under any other foot. They were cheap, they were expendable, they were replaceable…

They were nothing.

The disk fell to the floor almost noiselessly.

Long slender fingers picked it up and replaced it in his lap in one fluid movement.

"I'll get back to you soon about Oshitari and Kaidoh," Sengoku said as he straightened himself. "I'm sure Kaidoh will be out soon; it's almost time."

A nod, as his fingers closed around the disk again.

"Take care, Atobe. Don't die on us before it's all over." A quirk to the sides of his mouth as he adjusted his shades. "It's only two weeks, right? What's fourteen days to you when you've been through years of this?"

They laughed then, and the emptiness of the sound resonated through all of them, all of him.

Sengoku didn't know him like Fuji did, Sengoku wasn't close to him like Fuji was, but there was something about the other man that made him realize that he probably understood more than Fuji Syuusuke ever would. Seen more, heard more, felt more… because he'd long passed through Fuji's stage to arrive at his stage.

Fuji was still a child, fumbling in denial and stumbling over pretensions.

When all he needed to do was just to…

_Never mind. _

He watched as Sengoku turned to leave, just like how he'd watched the others leave before him.

_Possessions…_

Control and be controlled… Funny how those who held the most strings had the most strings tied to themselves. To strangle others when you're only left with your last breath…

To possess, to be possessed by, to be in possession of…

_Fascinating. _

He tossed the disk and watched as the light reflected off its shiny surface, then caught it easily mid-fall.

It was so much easier than catching a feather.

* * *

_It came out of nowhere, spilling out on its own accord; he had surprised even himself. _

_It should never have been asked, that question; those words should never have been spoken. Not any day, especially not that day; it had been a good day, and almost perfect. _

_One of those bubbles that kept growing and growing, with rainbows dancing across the surface, so real and so fragile at the same time. _

_Like a dream. _

"_Na, Jirou, what will you do if I died?"_

_Brush stopped abruptly against canvas. A blink in confusion and those dark chocolate orbs were suddenly fixed on him. Thick paint ran down the length of the canvas, marring it with a bright red streak. As if a single drop of blood had been dripped from one end of the canvas to the other. _

_Blood, freshly spilt. _

"_Do you mean… what will I do if you died before me?" A slight crease of the brow in concentration. He hadn't noticed the errant streak of paint. _

_A restless flick of the hair, unsure of why the words were spoken in the first place. _

"_Yeah, I guess." He didn't like the way the other phrased it, just like how he disliked that crimson streak across the painting. _

_And couldn't stop staring at it in fascination. _

"_I never thought about it, Kei-chan…" Brow creased thoughtfully as palette and brush were carefully and slowly placed on the table before turning. "I'd always thought that we'd die together."_

_An owlish blink._

"_Together?"_

_A smile, almost shy. _

"_Yeah, together. As old men." A bashful grin and a scratch of his head, leaving a smear of red paint on honey blond locks. "I'd always thought that we'd always be together, until we couldn't live anymore, and we'd die in our sleep, side by side…__"_

_A blush, creeping, and the smile was so warm he couldn't help smiling back. _

_But the red…_

_He couldn't not see the red. It was like the ghost of a crack on a perfect bubble, the shiver of rainbows just before the break. _

_A sign. _

_But suddenly familiar arms were around him and all thoughts fled his mind. If they were there to begin with, that was. _

"_Ne, Kei-chan, say… what if I died before you do?" _

_Almost playful. _

_He wanted to say that it was something to be serious about, the words were right on the tip of his tongue__ then, but they melted as soft lips pressed against his in a kiss. _

"_You won't, Jirou. Ore-sama will protect you from all harm…" Feather-soft whisper against honey gold curls of words that rang with ignorant certainty. _

_He should have said that it was bad luck to talk about dying. _

_He should have heeded the red that unsettled him so; the red that crawled over the glassy surface of the bubble and chased the rainbows away. _

_Then maybe he wouldn't have had to blame himself so much for being so naive and certain when Jirou died. _

* * *

The air was dreadfully cold, and the liquor was becoming harder to swallow by the second. Yet he couldn't bring himself to put the glass down like he should, instead choosing to continue standing by the window, staring into the darkness below for the ghost of what was no longer there, forcing liquid ice down his throat as if his life depended on it.

When he was already freezing.

Soft familiar footsteps came up behind him. He didn't turn around.

"Why didn't you tell them?" he breathed against the glass, so softly that the mist on the crystalline surface was the only sign that he had spoken at all.

A smirk.

"Where's the fun in that, Fuji?" an answer whispered equally softly into his ear.

A sharp intake of breath, the harsh slosh of liquid against glass.

His hands were shaking so hard but he didn't seem to notice.

_The catch, Fuji, is that it must fail; the objective of this assignment is for the assassination to fail. And you will be the one to make sure everything will fail successfully._

_I have absolute faith in you._

The dulled tinkle of glass breaking against carpeted floor, the fierce red of wine spreading across the white of carpet like wildfire.

"Why are you doing this to them? They have a right to know…"

Voice shaking out of control.

The few words Atobe couldn't stand the most; the sound of smooth veneer cracking filled his ears.

"What do they have a right to know, Fuji? That they might die?" Long cold fingers clenched his chin and jerked him around. Icy depths stared into his. "Do I look as if I'd care?"

_Gavethemlife,allofthem;madethemwhattheyaretoday,gavethemeverythingtheyhavetoday.Havenorighttoanythingtheyhavenow,noneofthem.Notevenyou,Fuji.Allmine,you'reallmine…_

A sneer and a flash of pain across the deepest depth in those eyes.

_It's all mine, but I can never have any of it back. _

"I can, and I will do whatever I want. Understand?"

They were both shaking now; shaking, beyond control.

"I hate you."

He turned so that they were facing each other now.

"I know."

It was strange, how being each other's arms could feel even colder than the freezing air around them, but if clinging onto ice could keep you afloat in an open ocean, that's what you would do too.

Atobe quietly slipped the disk into Fuji's shirt pocket and all of a sudden, Fuji felt as if the front of his shirt weighed as much as an entire mountain would.

* * *

_He never had time to tell Taka-san how he'd felt about him. They were almost always together, but there was always no time for him to tell him that he probably wanted the other boy as more than just a friend, that he probably wanted to be more than just a friend to him. _

_There was school, and there was tennis, and there were friends, and there was life. _

_Too many things, too little time… but they were young, and he'd thought that a lifetime was long enough to do it all. To go to school, to play tennis, to have fun with friends, to live life to the fullest… and to tell him how much he meant to him and how much he wanted to walk the entire journey of life with him. _

_But in his youthful ignorance he had not taken into account that everyone's life had its own span, and some were longer than the others. Much, much longer._

_He had thought that there was time enough to do everything together. _

"_Ne, Taka-san…" he started to say as he picked at a non-existent lint on his uniform. The taller boy looked up from packing his empty lunchbox away. _

"_What is it, Fujiko? You didn't like the bento?" Brow creased slightly in concern, he leaned across the space between them to look him properly in the face. _

_He couldn't help the blush that was slowly spreading over his face. _

"_No, no… I like it. You cook very well, Taka-san…" _

_The other boy laughed good-naturedly as he straightened himself. "Well, I am planning to carry on the family business, so I have to work hard now."_

_He let out a sigh as the other boy put the distance between them again, but he couldn't tell if it was of relief or regret. _

"_True…"_

_Large round eyes were now fixed on him. "So, Fujiko, what is it that you want to tell me? If it's not the bento, then…"_

Ahh, that…

"_Ano, Taka-san, have you… do… what do you think of me?"_

_A blink. Then he was beaming. _

"_You're the best, Fujiko," he declared as he leaned forward to put a hand on his silky hair, "you're my best friend in the world!" _

Ah.

"_I…"_

"_Huh?" _

Ah…

"_I like you, Taka-san, you are the most important person to me…" His face was burning, now, he could feel it. Could almost see how red it must be…_

"_I like Fujiko too. You're the most important friend to me, Fuji," he said, with that same old smile. _

Ahh…

_The bell rang to signal the end of lunch break. _

"_Ah, the bell rang! Hurry up Fujiko, or we'll be late!"_

_Next time then, he thought as he allowed himself to be pulled to his feet by the other boy. They ran all the way back to their homeroom, and it was fun to outrun those prissy old teachers who screamed at them to stop and walk properly like well-mannered kids should. _

Next time, for sure…

_Except, of course, he ran out of "next time"s more than half a lifetime sooner than he thought. _

* * *

Some time during the night, the gash had broken again, just a little at the side. Hadn't noticed until Atobe arched an eyebrow and pointed out the stain on his shirt; hadn't felt the pain. Turned down the offer to stay the night and walked all the way… _back_… in the freezing night air. 

Almost used 'home' again.

_Funny. _

Had waited in the living room since then, not very sure of what he was waiting for. Could not keep his eyes off the clock as the hands went round and round, counting the seconds, the minutes and the hours at the same time.

Had later trudged to the computer and put the disk in, after fishing it out from the pocket and holding back the urge to crush it under his foot; his latest assignment.

It was so strangely heavy.

_Six hours and twenty-two minutes. _

Decided to do something about the wound.

Glared unseeingly at the neatly sewed-up gash across his abdomen, antiseptic solution in one hand and cotton wads in the other. Poured just a little too much of the solution and swore under his breath as the excess liquid ran down the length of his arm to dye the sleeves of his shirt a brownish shade of yellow.

_Six hours and twenty-three minutes. _

Kept the bottle away and went over to the printer to retrieve the thick stack of printouts from the printer, tossing the used cotton wads away on the way. Aim was off and he missed. Reached for a cigarette in his shirt pocket and didn't remember that he'd already run out of them until he took the empty box out. Almost couldn't resist the childish urge to stamp his feet in annoyance.

_Twenty-four._

Crushed the minidisk under his shoe as he was supposed to. Then saw the topmost printout and stared.

_Twenty-five. _

Hadn't realized how badly he'd been affected by the photo until he tasted blood. Then stared dumbly at the million bits of scrap paper that were the remnants of the printout as he nursed his lower lip, where he'd been biting till the skin broke.

_Twenty-six._

Realized that he'd already destroyed the disk and there wasn't any way he could get another printout.

A scrap with an eye flittered by his feet and stared unblinkingly up at him. Trembled a little at the sight and snatched it up to tear into a million bits.

A name drifted into his mind, uncalled for. A whimper. Took him a while to realize it was him who made the noise. Memories flooded back and he was on the floor, shivering. No, no, no, a thousand times no; had never wanted to see him again. Had never imagined they would ever meet again.

Realised that life had a way of screwing with people, and that he missed his kitten. Awfully much.

That he was only cold because his only source of warmth wasn't there beside him like it used to be.

Not making sense.

Not wanting to make sense.

_Jumbled thoughts. _

And tears were falling again, freezing him in eternal winter.

* * *

"_I know you, Fuji, you don't scare me."_

Iron grip on his wrist, dark eyes burning into his.

"_You're not who you make yourself out to be, and I know that. You can't fool me; you're not as invincible as you think you are. In fact, you're much more vulnerable than anyone else; and you know it too, don't you?"_

It hurt. Couldn't look away, couldn't walk away…

"_Maybe I can destroy you after all, Fuji; that's an interesting idea…" Voice full of wonder. _

Shivering uncontrollably now…

"_Will I be the first to do so?"_

* * *

The apartment was filled with the scent of orchids- light and tangy- mixed in with the stench of alcohol and smoke. With an undertone of stale blood. It was an abominable mixture, like those sugar-coated tablets that doctors prescribed for children: sweet on the tongue, with the barest undertone of bitterness, and then a hell of an aftertaste. 

One of those green candles, then; Fuji loved the scent of orchids far more than lavender.

Ryoma was very careful not to upset the bento as he unwrapped it; Ann had spent much time packing it for him and it would be a waste to have it upended on the filthy floor just because his hands were shaking so much. In the darkness he couldn't really see how much damage had been done, but he could feel his entire body falling to bits, which really couldn't be a good sign.

His chopsticks clattered to the floor and he gave up trying to hold them properly. He started to eat with his bare hands and tasted the metal tang of his own blood on the rice. And yet, all he could think of was how much of a waste it was to have Ann's efforts sullied like this.

Blood wasn't the right sauce to go with anything.

The smell of violence, Ryoma decided absently, was what the apartment reeked of. Of aggression and possession and resignation; how sickening.

Soft footsteps against scrap paper strewn on the floor.

"Bandage," Fuji said coolly as he tossed a roll of bandage into the boy's lap. Ryoma winced at the contact. "You're bleeding too much," he added as an afterthought. The bandage bounced off his lap and fell to the floor, but he couldn't even move himself to retrieve it; his entire body trembled with the effort of merely sitting up.

"I killed a kitten this morning. I didn't go up to it and offer bandages," he breathed, voice raspy with the effort, "so stop pretending if you don't mean it." He lifted his eyes to meet the dull blue depths above him. "I don't need you to pity me, _senpai_."

Almost accusing.

"Suit yourself," Fuji replied, nonchalant, as he turned to leave, sauntering. Ryoma did not turn to see the darkness of the corridor swallow Fuji up.

The scent of the candle was starting to give way to the horrible stench it belied; it must be burning out soon. But even as it ebbed away, its sweetness lingered in the stagnant air and became a part of the stench itself, sweetening it in a sickening, intoxicating way.

He had known that it would happen this way. Had known that Fuji would be waiting for him by the time he got back, would have him by the scruff of his neck by the time he was through the door, would have punched all breath soundly out of him even before he kicked his shoes off. He knew what would come later too- the silent assault which would blind him for at least an hour before he came to again; Fuji never made much sound during such disciplinary sessions. But he hadn't expected, in all his wildest dreams, to see Fuji with eyes puffy from lack of sleep.

Hadn't expected Fuji to be anything but normal, and yet there was Fuji, slumped against the wall by the front door holding onto scraps of paper, eyes puffy from want of sleep, as he opened the door.

The beating had been worse than usual, much worse, but strangely, he didn't seem to feel it half as much as he usually did.

He wondered why.

Something cold came into contact with his skin and he winced involuntarily. "Spoons are better for eating than hands," Fuji stated flatly as he closed Ryoma's raw hand around the cold, metallic spoon. Ryoma looked quizzically up at his senpai; he hadn't heard him come back in. Fuji bent over to pick the roll of bandage up and slammed it down on the tabletop beside Ryoma's hand before he left again.

Ryoma stared for a while at the bandage through the darkness, mind uncharacteristically blank. Then he slowly lowered the spoon and replaced the lid over the bento before picking the roll up as he got to his feet.

He couldn't do all that bandaging alone, he decided, and started to plod after Fuji; he needed to see those eyes… again.

* * *

**A/N:** Whoa... this chapter was really hard to write. I ended up rewriting it at least three times. Complete overhaul... cos it refused to go the way I wanted it to. I wanted to put in so many things here, but greediness is as bad as writer's blocks and procrastination... :) 

This is probably the shortest chapter so far- excluding chapter zero- and probably one of the most confusing(?)... Amidst all that squeezing I was trying to do- memories and plot advancement and new characters...- I suddenly had a crazy idea about making this chapter completely out of snippets of memories... I discarded it almost immediately, because 1) it would be too convoluted, and 2) some memories are still not needed at this point in time, and will mess up the pace of the story... XD But it does have its effect on this chapter...

I will first apologise for the use of quite a number of sentences without spacing for effect... I didn't leave out the punctuation marks though, and hopefully they can be figured out without killing off too many brain cells...

This is a rather Fuji-centric chapter, and I must say that I enjoyed writing him a lot... and I secretly enjoy writing fluff, even though all my writings show it to be otherwise. Fuji-Taka isn't my OTP per se, but I've always thought they'd be really adorable together, and Taka-san would be a good influence on Fujiko. XD

There are some readers who are asking for some FujiRyo violence, but I would like to say here that violence will only be used for characterisation and for advancing the plot... I do not support graphic violence, so I wil try to minimise my use of it in the story. XD Violence kind of scares me, actually... :D


	10. nine: complications

disclaimer: PoT isn't mine. i never claimed it to be... XD

EDIT: ffnet has once again eaten up one of my precious lines... I'm annoyed. Have added it in. It's the question that Sengoku has in his mind: _Just how much was Atobe hiding from them?_

* * *

**Nine:Complications**

Momoshiro heaved a sigh as he sipped tiredly at his coffee, rubbing his temples surreptitiously. It was arguably the worst coffee in the world, ever- and a fitting contester against any of Inui-senpai's evil concoctions as _The World's Foulest-Tasting Beverage Ever_- but right now, with his brain shutting down on him and almost his entire body falling asleep- taste buds included- he didn't seem to mind it much.

"Tired already? You've just clocked in and you're already a wreck; it'll be a wonder if that piece of toast doesn't make you run a hundred laps around the building when he sees you," Shishido said incredulously as he looked up from the coffee machine, rolling his eyes dramatically in the direction of the door where Tezuka Kunimitsu had just stepped in. Followed by a stony-faced Sanada.

Momoshiro groaned into his cup at a certain excruciatingly painful memory. "That's not even funny, Shishido."

"No it isn't," the older man agreed readily, "but your face is." He smirked into his cup as Momoshiro scowled at him, almost drinking the foul black fluid inside. He, too, made a face when he realized just what he was about to do. Momoshiro saw it and smirked, raising his cup as a kind of salute before downing the entire cup in one gulp.

"Eww…" Shishido convulsed involuntarily as the younger man flashed a childishly triumphant smile at him.

"If the two of you have enough time for such awe-inspiring displays of your maturity, why don't you go figure out where that Kaidoh guy has gone?" Yagyuu's voice cut in coolly as he sauntered into the lounge in search of some sugar packets. He spared a brief but meaningful look out of the window towards the meeting room. "They're not very pleased with how things have turned out, and it doesn't take a genius to realize that you guys are going to be in deep trouble when they come out of that room and find nothing concrete on their desks."

Shishido rolled his eyes. "Thanks for the reminder; we really appreciate that," he replied as he accidentally took a sip of his coffee. Which he gagged on and spewed out almost immediately. Yagyuu patted him lightly on the back in sympathy.

Momoshiro sighed in exasperation.

"You don't have to tell me; Inui-senpai told me all about it. He was going all ballistic this morning when he found that creepy _mamushi_ gone from his cell. Raving on and on, and on and on… I thought it'd never end." He turned to help himself to more of that horrible fluid. "And _then_ he started ranting about how inefficient I was… for letting him escape, for not having found him _yet_… all those numbers and whatnots. Horrible morning."

He gulped down the entire cup's content.

"That explains your peculiar taste this morning," Shishido replied sympathetically, voice still raspy from the coffee. Beside him Yagyuu offered a pitying smile.

"Our superiors can be a little unreasonable at times," the Gentleman said mildly, brow creasing just a little at one of _his_ more unpleasant memories.

"Yeah. Like how they love to boss you around for making coffee that is either too sweet, or too milky, or too black, or whatever suits their mood, always having some fault to pick even if it's just a goddamn cup of coffee every other minute," Shishido snorted. "A little unreasonable my ass."

Momoshiro nodded pensively. "They should at least thank you for making the effort to remember who wants what on which days, at what time, in what mood…" he added, gesturing towards the sugar packets the bespectacled man was holding onto. Yagyuu sighed in resignation.

For a second time under that hour Shishido sipped at the vile coffee again, and this time he actually managed to swallow it without realizing what he'd done. He spluttered at the aftertaste, however, and Yagyuu shook his head slightly.

"Well, I guess I'd better get going; Yukimura-san doesn't like having to wait too long for his coffee." He smiled ruefully at his companions, almost as if he was sorry to have to leave the comfort of the room.

"Yukimura is the worst," Shishido announced decidedly. "He's jumpy and grouchy and a slave-driver and more than just a little unreasonable. And that temper of his…"

All three shared an involuntary shiver at this point.

"All the more reason I should get going then," Yagyuu deadpanned as he turned to leave in a considerably more hurried fashion than before.

An amused chuckle from the doorway almost scared the daylights out of the three gossips… until they realized who it was, of course.

"Tachibana-san," Yagyuu greeted with due respect, bowing his head just a little; just because their superiors had allowed them to drop the titles attached to their names didn't mean that they had any right to skip over the respect that should be accorded to them. And it was even more so with Tachibana Kippei, who also happened to be the most benevolent of them all; his kindness towards his subordinates had earned him more admiration and loyalty than his countless achievements ever did, and those achievements were truly awe-inspiring. Beside him, the other two bowed their heads as well.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" Tachibana folded his arms against his chest as he surveyed the three men before him. "Breathers are understandable, but I will not tolerate those who slack off during working hours either," he chided lightly, face placid though there was a mixture of amusement and worry in his eyes.

"We're sorry, Tachibana-san," Yagyuu returned immediately before politely asking for permission to return to work.

"Yeah, sure," Tachibana said as he gestured vaguely in the general direction of the meeting room, "it'll be real horrible to have to sit through an infinitely long meeting with cranky colleagues who hadn't had their daily dose of caffeine yet. It makes them rather hard to work with, as I'm sure you guys already know." His face was completely straight, but he allowed the three men to indulge in a knowing smile before herding them off to work.

"And try to remember that the lounge isn't soundproof," he called out as the three men scurried back to their individual cubicles, allowing himself to be momentarily amused by the sudden increase in the speed of their gaits before making his way slowly to the much dreaded meeting room.

* * *

As he lay watching Eiji's chest rise and fall irregularly in his sleep, he picked up a few pertinent points regarding sharing a bed with another. 

One, it was extremely uncomfortable to cram with someone else on a bed that was meant for only one, especially when you were completely wet from head to toe, and virtually impossible if you were actually of normal size and didn't suffer from stunted growth during your adolescence. Two, acrobatic and highly flexible people made for bad bedfellows, especially when nothing remotely sexual was involved in the course of the night.

Not that he really minded having to share his bed with Eiji, of course.

A buzz that signalled an incoming call on his cell was heard and he got up with a reluctant sigh to get it. It had been warm being in the bed with Eiji, a fuzzy kind of warm- not that he'd ever admit it to the other man in this lifetime- which made the morning chill a little colder and more stinging than usual. He was shivering, a little, by the time he'd made it to the phone and noted the caller id. Perhaps it was merely because he hadn't bothered drying himself, or even to put on some kind of clothing after his cold shower earlier on that made him tremble in the morning chill, but as the number registered itself in his mind, he realised that there might be a much more probable reason for it.

His hands shook as he put the phone to his ear.

"You sure took your time to answer the call, didn't you?"

"Well," he drawled, "it's not my fault if people want to call me at unearthly hours in the morning." His knuckles had turned a deathly white from holding too tightly onto the phone.

A cold laugh from the other end.

"Well, getting cocky, aren't we, _Mukahi_-san, hm?"

Behind him, Eiji stirred.

"Oi, if you actually have something to tell me, then hurry up already. Or I'm going to hang up on you..." he returned snappishly.

"Now, now, Mukahi, don't get so worked up. I just have some instructions from the boss. Uh-huh, let's see... Well, you're to submit your report on that boyfriend of yours by twenty-two hours sharp... that's 10pm sharp tonight, in case you didn't understand that..."

"Shut up and go on already, woman!"

He could almost see the woman on the other end raising her eyebrow at his words.

"Well, well, not in a good mood right now, are we?" She chuckled. "Anyway, there's something else too. You've been watching a man by the name Kikumaru Eiji for a while now, haven't you?"

_So, this is it..._

"Yeah, what about him?" he snapped.

"He'll have to be killed in the near future, but I don't have the details yet. The boss will contact you personally, I've been told, so keep your phone on and charged at all times..."

_Oh. Right._

"And Oishi Shuichirou is going to be dealt with by the higher-ups too, so you had better concentrate on your assignments right now. They are already unhappy with how you've become rather friendly with that Kikumaru..."

He flinched.

"I'm not!" he replied instinctively, just a tad too fast, and a tad too vehement. Cold sweat had broken out on his brow, but he didn't seem to notice it.

There was a brief silence on the other end.

"Of course not, Mukahi. I'm sure you're perfectly aware of the consequences of failure; you are _that person's_ apprentice, after all." Her voice was too smooth, too sweet, and he felt like an idiot for blurting that out.

He really was getting way too rusty, and it was going to be a dangerously slippery slope from now on.

And how dare she talk about... about Ohtori senpai like... like _that_!

"Well, then, that's all for today, Mukahi-san. Good luck with your assignments then."

He could hear the smirk in her voice.

"Yes, Chie-san. Thank you for your instructions. Good bye."

He ended the call and proceeded to hurl it across the room where it broke neatly into two pieces against the wall.

* * *

He stared blankly as Sengoku waved his hand carelessly at him for the third time. What was that supposed to mean? Though it looked suspiciously like the peaceful dismissal he could only dream about, he wasn't going to jump in and assume. Besides it wasn't like Sengoku to let him off the hook this easily. He had anticipated having to break an arm, or a leg, or gouge an eye out, or anything, really, that would announce his humiliating failure to the entire world. 

If anyone had had any doubt that those rumours regarding his cruelty hadn't been completely true, they had been put right ever since Sengoku decided to make _that person_ pay for betraying his trust.

He'd blinded both his eyes, and broken both of his legs and an arm, and beaten him senseless, leaving him to die. The deal, it seemed, was that if he survived, he could leave as he wished. Rumour had it that he did survive, though no one knew if it was true at all. But that was beside the point.

The point was that Sengoku never hesitated when it came to doling out rightful punishment, and it just wasn't right that he was being let off this easily.

And it was said that that person had been Sengoku's favourite and had always been loyal to a fault until meeting _that other person_...

"Well, have you turned to stone or something? I told you to go, didn't I?" Sengoku snapped at him as he fiddled with a pen with which he had been drawing complicated-looking diagrams for the past few minutes. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose in annoyance as an eyebrow twitched ever so slightly.

"And don't worry about your share of punishment, Kaidoh, because you will be dealt with accordingly by Atobe himself all in good time. Right now, however, is not the time for us to waste our resources by permanently handicapping them because there's a new assignment that we have to complete within fourteen days- thirteen, actually- and you'll be no good to anyone to have half your body disabled," Sengoku said sharply, tapping the pen irritably against the tabletop.

_Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap..._

Oh.

So all that gun-pointing and threatening had just been entertainment.

Right.

He shifted his weight slightly, tugging a little at his bandana.

Somehow, he wondered if it wouldn't be better if Sengoku had just shot him right here, as compared to personal attention from Atobe.

Sengoku watched him coldly for a while, and seemingly losing interest, turned back to his diagrams and doodles.

"Go now, and get your papers from Chi-chan outside. She'll tell you what you have to do from now on, and how, and when, and she'll answer your questions if you have them," he drawled as he drew another large circle onto the paper before him, overlapping several other circles. "You know the drill. And be nice, because I don't think the trouble you've caused has made things any easier for her."

He nodded briefly and quickly made his way out of the room with his head bowed. Sengoku had long forgotten him before the door shut almost noiselessly behind him.

"So it's you. How bothersome," Chi-chan said tartly, looking up from the monitor as he let out a sigh of relief against the closed door. "I was hoping that you died in that Bank so that I won't have to make all these arrangements..."

He glared, but the young woman went on, glaring right back at him.

There weren't many people in this world who could withstand his _looks_, much less his _glares_, and it was just the tiniest bit demoralising to know that one of those few was only a mere secretary who couldn't have been out of university for very long.

"I don't see why anyone would find you useful after this whole... fiasco. But... oh well, orders are orders..." She rolled her eyes as she swivelled her chair around to fish a plastic folder out of nowhere. He blinked, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him. Flipping idly through the contents of the folder, the young woman rambled off a whole list of things that he was to remember to ensure his own safety.

He could feel the words trickling out of brain as his annoyance with the woman grew.

This was nothing new really. Everyone hated Takada Chie, or at least everyone who'd had to work with her on anything. She was efficiency personified, and with the addition of some brains, some pluck, very good looks, an exceptionally poisonous tongue, she'd become a complete nightmare. It didn't help matters that Sengoku trusted her so much that almost no one received any form of instruction personally from him; almost everything had to go through _Chi-chan_, and he couldn't help wondering if the resentment generated by the woman had been the exact reason Sengoku was doing it.

In so many ways, Sengoku was every bit as bad as Atobe Keigo.

The folder was tossed carelessly onto the counter with a thud.

"Well, since you aren't going to listen to anything I'm supposed to tell you, just take it and go. Everything should be inside already. Call if you have any problems regarding the arrangements I've made for you," Chi-chan said irritably as she picked up the phone. "I have to work now so please leave if you have nothing to ask."

Snatching up the folder in a fury, he shot her yet another death-glare before stalking out of the office feeling like an utter loser.

Behind him, Chi-chan started to goad at someone by the name of Mukahi, and though he had never seen the other man before, he could already feel his deepest sympathy going out for him.

* * *

Sengoku was sure that Kaidoh hadn't been entirely honest with him. Something must have happened back in the Bank, and the fact that Kaidoh had been careful to provide him with only the bare essentials reinforced the idea that he had been trying to hide things from him. 

He couldn't doubt the authenticity of his words though, because Kaidoh Kaoru, in spite of all his touchiness and quick temper, was incredibly easy to read. He made no conscious effort to mask himself, and was almost painfully honest and open. It was blatantly obvious, in an in-your-face way, how he never held back the things he knew he had to be open about, and never let out anything that he felt others had no need to know about.

Simply put, Kaidoh was the type who would rather die from torture than betray anyone who trusted him. It also meant that Kaidoh was, in a strange way, infinitely more difficult to crack than most people.

Letting out a small sigh, Sengoku tossed his pen aside and got to his feet. Propping himself against the side of the table, he looked over the diagrams and scribbles that covered the sheet of paper before him.

There had to be loopholes in Kaidoh's story, because there were way too many blank spaces and question marks on the paper, and there could only be two possible answers to this.

One, Kaidoh hadn't been completely honest with him, and since Kaidoh would never withhold _official_ information from him, something _personal_ must have happened back in the Bank during his capture.

Or two, Kaidoh had been as clueless as he professed himself to be, which also meant that there had to be another individual behind this entire episode, controlling the proceedings from behind the scene.

Sengoku ran a hand haphazardly through his hair.

If truth be told, he'd much prefer the first possibility to the second.

It would be most undesirable, most unpleasant, and not to mention sticky and messy, if complications of the emotional sort were to arise out of Kaidoh's interaction with the Intelligence, especially so considering the nature of their latest assignment. However, that would be nothing compared to the existence of an omniscient and omnipotent puppeteer who had been dictating the way things should be done without their conscious knowledge. Of course, he could be jumping to conclusions here, but...

It just wasn't right that the person who had released Kaidoh hadn't been the person he had assigned the task to. And that it hadn't been even been someone he knew was extremely alarming. That, and the fact that Oishi seemed to have vaporised from the surface of the earth.

_I was in the cell one moment, and I was out the next. It just happened. I waited for the code but there was none. Then I got up and there was no one at all. No guards outside, no patrol in the building, even the cameras and those tacky technical gadgets seemed to be out of working order. But..._

He had hesitated a little before continuing.

_But I had just made it out of the building when I heard the whirring noise of those gadgets start up behind me... Fsshh... It's almost as if someone had switched everything off and waited for me to leave before switching them on again. _

He could tell that Kaidoh had been highly uncomfortable about the entire event, and that having to tell something so incredulous made him uncharacteristically nervous. He couldn't really blame him though; it had been impossible for him to be captured in the first place, and then to be freed in such an eerie manner... He figured that he wouldn't have fared any better if he had had to go through the same things that he had.

_...almost as if someone had been waiting for me to leave._

He strode to the window nervously, but even the view failed to calm his nerves.

He was almost sure that he was only overreacting, but his instincts had been so rarely ever wrong that it was completely impossible for him to just laugh the possibility of there being another unknown force behind the scene off.

And it didn't help matters that too many uncanny coincidences had occurred within such short intervals of one another.

Akutsu's untimely death, the betrayal that Atobe mentioned the night before, the unusual assignment, Oishi's disappearance, and then this.

Slipping his glasses off, he massaged the bridge of his nose gingerly; he could feel yet another headache starting up at the back of his head.

He wondered if he should tell Atobe... and how much...

A loud screech from the roads below.

_Atobe..._

He watched as one car rammed forcefully into another.

_How much..._

A cacophony of car horns and shouted obscenities.

_Atobe._

Something clicked in his mind all of a sudden and he blinked.

Just the beginnings of a doubt, a tentative question.

_What if... Does Atobe..._

A knock on the door jolted him rudely out of his thoughts.

"Sengoku-sensei," Chi-chan called as she opened the door softly, "Echizen-san is here already. Should I send her in?"

He regarded her in silence as she patiently waited for his reply.

Whistles could be heard from below as the police arrived to deal with the situation.

He took a deep breath and strode back to his table before nodding at her. "Yes, please do," he said absently as he quickly folded up the open sheet before him.

The young woman started to raise her eyebrows but caught herself at the last moment and quickly let herself out of the room.

Snatching up his discarded pen, Sengoku scribbled Atobe's name hurriedly on the back of the paper and circled it.

_Does Atobe know about this already? How much does he know... if he does?_

"Good morning, doctor," Echizen Ryoga greeted almost respectfully as he led his mother into the room. She smiled blankly at him, the way she smiled at almost everything now.

"Good morning, please take a seat," he returned politely and gestured to large leather chairs at the other end of the room, opposite the window, and slotted the paper into his drawer before joining them.

All the while his mind resonated with the questions which gradually fell into one single question that would haunt him until his own untimely death.

_Just how much was Atobe hiding from them?_

* * *

Niou Masaharu watched the scene unfold before him; it was really quite interesting to watch stupid people try to solve stupid problems in their pathetically stupid ways. 

That an accident could ever happen this way was already ridiculous enough on its own, throw in the fact that no one had been hurt or injured, and add in some mindless oafs who were just too prone to anger for their own good... And you'd get what he had in front of him right now.

A carnival for idiots, where people with half a brain-some less than that- openly exchanged obscenities and made loud uncivilised noises to their hearts' content.

How disgustingly lowly.

The driver raised an inquiring eyebrow at him, and he wondered if he'd had enough entertainment to last him through the day. He was about to tell the other man that he'd much rather stay and slack off another half hour when his phone rang. He fished the slim gadget from his pocket almost lazily and took his time before answering it.

Sometimes it was more fun talking to Hanamura Aoi when she was all fired up from being annoyed at him.

"Niou-kun." The woman's voice was uncharacteristically serious on the other end, and his interest was piqued immediately.

"Ah, what is it, baa-chan?" he drawled as he leaned back in his seat to make himself more comfortable.

He could almost see her tense up at his irreverent form of address.

"A death threat came in this morning, and if you're done sight-seeing around town would you please ferry your royal ass back here as soon as possible?" Hanamura snapped irritably.

"Ahh, I see. How exciting... the Bank will be sending someone over, I suppose?" He made sure to keep his voice as normal as possible, but it was hard trying to contain the excitement that had started to build up within him.

Hanamura laughed coldly.

"Of course. And please try not to let your excitement at seeing your boyfriend again show this much. It's rather unbecoming, and not to say disgusting. And it gives the wrong impression that we have such bad taste in choosing our employees that the assistant secretary to the Prime Minister turns out to be a slacker who is much more interested in chance rendezvous with lovers than his job."

Niou smirked. "Don't take it out on me just because you aren't getting any, baa-chan," he drawled, "and besides, you know that I've always worked well enough to keep Sakaki-san from kicking my, quote, royal butt, unquote, off my position."

On the other end, Hanamura started to seethe audibly. Heaving an exaggerated sigh, Niou interrupted before she could speak again.

"Hey chill, baa-chan. I'm sure things will work out fine in the end, so stop worrying too much or all that facial you spent whole fortunes on would go completely to waste. Yeah, yeah. I'll deal with whatever's freaking you out when I get back, so just go relax and get yourself laid in the meantime..."

"Thank you," Hanamura said quietly. Niou sat up in his seat, surprised; he hadn't realised how stressed out she had been. Probably because she was almost constantly stressed out, but...

"Yeah, whatever," he returned, scratching his head, just the least bit disconcerted by Hanamura's unusual behaviour.

"So we're going back?" the driver asked as he flipped his phone shut.

He thought for a moment. Then flipped the phone open again. "Yeah, go ahead," he answered offhandedly as he dialled a number that had become far too familiar.

The driver pulled out of their parking space.

"Ah, Ryoga-kun," he drawled disinterestedly as the call got through, "I'll be busy for the rest of the day, so Takada-san will be sent back to pick you guys up when the session's over, okay?"

Then the call was over and he was once more bored out of his mind, counting seconds until he had something to work on again.

"That okay with you, Takada?" Niou asked absently as he fiddled with his phone. "Picking them up afterwards?"

"Yes, sir."

Niou resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the boring reply.

He had wanted to come pick them up himself, but it seemed that it wasn't possible anymore.

There was just something so incredibly fascinating about a mad woman and her son who obviously had a lot of things to hide that he wouldn't mind putting up with the boredom in between their random bouts of irregular interaction.

The Echizens were a family of interesting people, he'd decided within five minutes of first making their acquaintance. A rather pretty son who seemed far too troubled for his own good, a father who's been half-dead for years, a mother who was obviously too far gone in her sanity to be of use to anyone, and a past that's been buried deeply under the ground...

Intriguing.

Sakaki had warned him about digging too deep before, when he'd tried to worm things out of the older man. That was the first time, and also the last, that such a warning had been issued; the look in those eyes had been positively murderous and Niou wasn't so stupid that he couldn't tell when someone obviously had something to hide, especially when he blatantly showed that he would do anything to keep it hidden.

He'd stopped poking his nose into things where he could be seen ever since then. But it had also served to increase his determination to get to the bottom of things, and the fact that he had to sneak around just upped the thrill factor infinitely.

After all, what sort of person wouldn't be interested in finding out about the connection between the much-revered Sakaki Tarou and the dysfunctional Echizen family? An idiot, most likely, but Niou Masaharu sure wasn't one.

What would make a person provide unconditional protection and monetary support to a family that had fallen to pieces already? Why would he ever want to keep it all hush-hush if he was doing it purely out of the goodness of his little heart? It would have made for good publicity, wouldn't it?

Wasn't it abnormal for someone like him to send his assistant secretary on errands to look after their welfare?

Heaving a sigh, he fidgeted in his seat, wondering why the trip was taking so bloody long.

When the car finally pulled into the driveway of the residence of the Prime Minister, he jumped out of it before it could come to a proper stop, glad that he could finally move a little and get some blood circulating so that his butt didn't feel so numb anymore.

"Well, here I am, baa-chan. So what's going..." he started to yell as he stepped through the doorway, announcing his obnoxious presence to the entire building. But the words died when his eyes fell on one particular figure which was currently standing in his direct line of vision.

Hanamura arched an eyebrow at his uncouth entrance.

"Well, well, well. I'd thought that you'd probably behave better in the presence of your lover, but it seems that I was wrong again..."

Niou couldn't be bothered with what other tirade she had to deliver as he made a beeline for the tall man to her right.

"Niou-kun..." the other man started warningly, but didn't have time to say anything substantial before he found himself being smothered by Niou Masaharu in a generous bear-hug.

"How nice of you to drop by, Hiro-pin!" he exclaimed as he squeezed his lover in a most undignified way- for both of them- just as if he were some sort of plushie or other.

Beside them, Hanamura sighed in exasperation and waited for them to be done with all that lovey-dovey display so that she could get started on the important stuff.

She waited for a very long time.

* * *

Gakuto checked the fridge one last time, making sure that he hadn't forgotten anything by mistake. He didn't know what sort of breakfast Eiji had, or what sort of lunch either, for that matter, but he hoped that there might be something he would find agreeable in there. It was completely stuffed with food items, and he decided that this was the best he could do. 

Eiji could always eat out if he didn't like anything he prepared.

With a last glance at the clock, he shut the door and attached a note to the fridge with a magnet.

It was a little worrying how Eiji had yet to show any sign of waking.

Not that it wasn't normal for someone to fall into deep slumbers after going through so much shock and trauma... just that he couldn't seem to stop crying in his sleep and it seemed dangerously possible that he might actually die of a broken heart in his sleep.

Gakuto sighed as he padded over to his room and popped in to check on Eiji one more time.

He really shouldn't be doing this, he knew. If there had been any smallest possibility that his friendship with Eiji might remain a secret before, it was gone now. Chi-chan's call had been the reality check he desperately needed.

How could he be so careless that he would forget himself and forget the fact that there could be other smaller Eyes watching all the while he was watching Eiji?

This was how they worked; watch, and be watched.

How could he forget?

And now he was in a fix. He had no idea who it could be, and he sure as hell wasn't going to spend more of his precious time trying to find it out. His clock had started ticking, it seemed, and he hoped that it wouldn't come to a point when he had to make decisions like Ohtori-senpai had to.

But then again...

Eiji sniffled and turned fitfully in his sleep.

He wouldn't let them kill Eiji, would he?

_Could he?_

The door bell rang and he jumped.

Almost angry at himself for being so jittery, Gakuto stomped across to the door and opened it grumpily.

"What do you..." he started to growl before he was forced backwards so that he almost fell. "Hey! What do you think..." He grabbed his assaulter by the shirt and was about to beat the daylight out of the man when he saw who it was.

Then he gaped openly as his hands fell slack.

The other man closed the door quietly and leaned against it weakly.

"What are you... what do..." he stuttered, unable to speak coherently as his mind tried fervently to register the fact that Oishi Shuichirou had suddenly turned up on his doorstep after having gone missing for, what, ten hours?

"What do you think you're doing, Oishi?! Are you out of your mind? Do you even know..."

Bloodshot eyes raised themselves to stare levelly into his, and he found himself unable to turn away from the despair in those depths.

"I need to see Eiji, Mukahi-kun," he whispered, lips quivering. "Please..."

"Well... Erm he's..."

"He's awake and he doesn't want to speak to you."

Gakuto jumped and turned just in time to see Eiji walking back to the bedroom and slamming the door shut behind him with finality.

Thing had just gotten a little more complicated than Gakuto had ever thought they would in his wildest dreams.

* * *

**A/N:** This chapter came out faster than I htought it would...The last chapter was really too hard to write, and I needed to get some of those 'extra' points that spilled over from it off my chest. Therefore, as you can see, this chapter is mainly for introduction of more characters. More will be coming and I cannot help but gawk as this monster just gets bigger and bigger on its own. Lol. I didn't really intend for it to become this huge in the first place, but somehow it did. 

The mention of the 'Bank' here will be explained in later chapters, but it's already been mentioned before, when Eiji and Gakuto first appeared and talked about Oishi being a banker in the Bank. I just don't want to confuse people here... XD

And I'm sorry if Kaidoh's revelation comes out a little anti-climatic... But there'd definitely be more excitement coming along, so I hope to make up for the lack of it in this chapter.

And yes, I love Niou. And I love d1. And excuse Niou's tongue because he just enjoys making fun of Hanamura. And Hanamura is... well, she kind of got on my nerves in the anime, and she's only here because I'm too lazy to make up OCs, so... But she's just too ooc here, so it's also fine if all you dear readers just imagine her to be some other woman with the same name...

And on the topic of OCs, I hope Chi-chan doesn't annoy too much. She's just too smartass for own good... but she does know who she works for, and has kind of an idol complex for Sengoku, so there. XD

More coming, and hope this has been an enjoyable read.


	11. ten: degenerate

disclaimer: I do not own Pot. I own nothing but the demented storyline.

* * *

**Ten: Degenerate**

_We are all monsters of our own making. You can't blame anybody for it; it isn't anybody's fault. This is reality, and in reality no one can force you to do anything. Such people do not exist in reality. _

_Don't kid yourself. You only have yourself to blame. _

* * *

They didn't talk and the room was silent except for the rustle of bandage against bandage. And then the sound of skin against skin. The ground was covered in blood, his and Fuji's, and even as he thought he was going to break from the assault he couldn't help but realize how intimate this was and become perversely excited by the feel of stale blood sticking to every exposed inch of his body.

It wasn't just about sex; it was never just about sex. But even he wasn't sure what it what about; he doubted if Fuji did either.

He looked to the wall on his right and found a hundred other pairs of eyes staring right back. _Accusingly_. His breath hitched and he could feel his need pooling in his groin again. Above him, Fuji shifted so that they were face to face and on their sides. Slender arms crushed him to a warm, pulsating chest and held him there.

"Don't look." A desperate whisper barely tickling the tips of stray hair plastered to his face. "Don't…" And the beatings of a frantic heart drowned out even the echoing rhythm of his own.

They didn't fall asleep.

_The door had been open. Almost as if it was waiting, waiting for him; as if he were waiting for him, although he never waited for anyone. He found him perched on a single stool, the only piece of furniture in the room, in the heart of the darkness, a dying flame struggling in its last moments by his side as the dainty fragrance it breathed out faded away. _

_It was just a room, but it was also a different world altogether. And he felt like an unwanted intruder. _

_It was Fuji's world. _

_He panicked as he stepped into the room, mind going into overdrive as he frantically searched for an excuse for his being there. For his invasion of this private space. But Fuji didn't move, not even as he took a second step. Or a third. Or a fourth… Not even when he was there beside him with the ball of bandages clutched clumsily in his hands… not even when he reached out and touched his hair. _

_Perhaps he was being accepted. By Fuji, and by the room, in a way. Not yet, but in a way. _

_Perhaps. _

_That was when he saw the wall, with its thousands of eyes staring right at him, right through him, right past him. Eyes unblinking, unseeing, unrelenting, constantly watching, watching, on a vigil. And under his hand, curled up in a foetal position on the stool, Fuji was shaking. _

_The flame went out and with it went the sweet scent of orchids; even they had abandoned Fuji. _

Don't look…_ Fuji whispered, shaking, his voice soft like the last wisp of lingering smoke in the room. He suddenly felt cold, all over; he couldn't tell who Fuji was talking to, or what he was referring to. _

_Don't look, don't look… at what? _

_This wasn't the Fuji he knew. But then again, maybe he didn't know Fuji well enough. Maybe he didn't know him at all. And he was petrified, truly, terribly, petrified. _

_Then, he, too, was shaking as he __slid his arms tentatively around Fuji's shoulders. The ball of bandages fell and rolled off, soaking up the blood on the floor, turning into a midnight shade of red. _

_Fuji pushed. At him. Struggling, clawing, hissing... _

…_holding on._

_All the while the eyes peered down at them. Staring back in defiance, he lifted Fuji's head and pressed his own shaking lips to Fuji's. And as Fuji started to melt in his arms, he thought he could hear a silent tormented scream escape from the four walls of the room. _

_The exorcism had begun._

_**_

_He dreamt of the fire again last night—the screams and the frantic footsteps and the smoke and escaping alive all alone. In the morning he woke up bathed in cold sweat to the sound of cooking in the kitchen. Dream melded into reality. Hysteria seized him then and his legs folded under him as he stumbled out of his bed, and he fell to the floor spasming and wheezing and unable to breathe. _

Kitchencookingfireannburnfireburnannburnannburnannburnannburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburnburn…

_The moment stretched out._

_Then his alarm clock went off and the wave subsided as the illusory released its hold upon his consciousness and slithered back to the chasm of dreams from whence it came. _

_And the moment was broken._

_Shakily, he pushed himself off the the floor and got unsteadily to his feet as the sweet aroma of home-cooked breakfast wafted into the room and soothed his nervous senses._

Ann_. _

_His phone rang, and he let it be; he had to see, to hear, to feel for himself that she was still there, alive, in the house, that it was the dream that had gone and not the reality. He stumbled a little, his legs still weak from the panic attack, his breath erratic and shallow. The phone went silent after four rings. _

Ann_._

_Could he find her now? Was she really there in the kitchen? She wasn't there when he came out of the fire, the fire which should have killed her burnt her into nothing remained on that barren land they had called home was gone now and then people came and took him away from her from everything that had melted into one thing that he was not crying no tears left for his suffering this injustice where he was alone so aloneallbyhimselfwithnoonetoturntonoonetoholdontonoonetoprotectnoonetotellhimthateverythingisokay…_

_Then the phone started ringing again, four rings before it went silent a second time. _

Save me.

_And then it rang for a third time. _

_He stopped in his tracks then; it was the reality alright. _

Aniki?Are you up already?You're up early again aren't you?

_Clutching the phone to himself, he collapsed to the floor once more on his knees. It was the reality alright, tainted and poisoned as it was, and he was safe, finally, for now._

**

The air was near freezing and the tea had long chilled. Fingers tapped restlessly against the sides of the phone.

A break.

Yanagi had gone off to dispatch instructions. Sanada and Yukimura had disappeared into the latter's office—to discuss security measures for the Prime minister, presumably. Tezuka had gone to get hot water.

_Tap, tap, tap. _

What to do now?

_Tap, tap, tap. _

Decisions, decisions. So long now, so long, since the last time anyone demanded that something _should be_ done. Even longer since anyone demanded that something _must be_ done. Things like that existed no more, and people like that existed no more. Rules didn't matter, nor did moral obligations. Morality had fallen apart. _Want_ decided the sequence now, to do something first or last, and _want_ decided what to do or not to do.

So. What to do now?

… _what are you going to do…?_

_Shut up. _

"Something on your mind?"

Tezuka had come back from the water dispenser. He stood in the doorway, eyes intent and unfathomable as always, watching, being cautious.

Looked up, usual relaxed smile in place, just barely lopsided for effect.

"The same goes for you, Tezuka-san. It must be rather disorienting to have your trusted officer missing in action and accused of treason at the same time, isn't it? I had the impression that you and Oishi-kun were rather close."

Tezuka blinked, considering the words carefully. He sipped slowly at the warm water in his mug as he thought them over. "It is," Tezuka said finally, deliberating over his choice of words, "rather inconvenient." He fingered his mug, dredging up the last bit of warmth that the water had to offer, pondering. "Oishi… was valuable. His patience and perseverance had always been crucial to the smooth-running of affairs," Tezuka continued quietly, analysing with characteristic detachment, "but no, I would not say that we were close; we just worked well together."

_Let's not be touchy now… You know you're a traitor, and wouldn't things be so much simpler if you'd just accept that? It's not like you're really close or anything. It's all in your imagination…_

"I see you're disturbed." Smile. Widened smile.

… _You just work well together._

"That would be correct, I suppose," Tezuka returned thoughtfully, his voice in its usual monotone. "It would be quite tiresome to conduct an internal inspection without Oishi's assistance. And his presence, for that matter, since he is currently the prime suspect and the only possible lead we have now."

Wouldn't it be nice if emotions could be given up for a poker face like Tezuka's? Then it wouldn't be so painful trying to smile every time she looked this way, every time she cooked up lies to cover a truth that was already exposed.

_It's all in your imagination._

"Were you surprised at all when Yukimura-san brought it up?"

Tezuka blinked.

"No," he replied, slightly perturbed by the question, "should I have been? People are quite unpredictable, and it's rather unfair to assume… things… about them."

Wouldn't it be nice, if the conscience could be given up for indifference like Tezuka's? Then it wouldn't be so painful waking up from dreams of things long ago, dreams of things in the now, dreams of things yet to come—if there were to be things yet to come.

_It's not like you're really close…_

"Even if you know and trust them…"

_Or anything. _

"And want to believe in them?"

_You just._

"And want to believe in them, yes."

_Work well._

"Even so, it never pays to let your guard down. Better to not have expectations at all than to be disappointed afterwards, no?"

_Together._

Pause.

No answer. Didn't know how to.

_Tap, tap, tap._

"At any rate, I'll be counting on you for your assistance with the internal investigations," Tezuka said, smoothly and nonchalantly changing the subject as if flipping a page in a book, and extended a hand. "It'll be a pleasure working with you, I'm sure, Tachibana-san."

The hand was taken.

"The pleasure's mine." Smile. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to have a word with Momoshiro."

It almost felt like an escape, leaving the room with Tezuka watching, watching, behind. Indifferent, dispassionate Tezuka. _Go away._ Hand tightened around the phone. What to do now? What? Something, anything, so long as the taste of guilt and bile on the tongue could be washed away. So long as… so long as…

_Aniki? You're up early again aren't you?_

_Clack._

"Tachibana-buchou, sir?" Momoshiro looked up, startled by the sound of phone colliding with floor.

"Oops." Tachibana allowed a rueful grin to creep over his face and into his voice. "Sorry about that. Did I interrupt anything?" Bending over, he reached to pick the phone up, but it kept slipping from his cold trembling fingers.

"Oh let me get that for you," Momoshiro said as he leant down to scoop the phone up effortlessly. "There," he grinned, "must be the cold huh? You look like you're freezing. Would you like something hot, sir? You're shivering." Concern, genuine concern, reflected in the clarity of his gaze, laced through his words.

_Aniki?_

Fingers flinched at Momoshiro's touch.

_Clack._

"Sir?" Momoshiro's brow creased a little.

Tachibana chuckled. "Well, isn't it cold in here? My fingers have gotten all numb, it seems." He flexed his fingers deliberately, directing a reassuring smile at Momoshiro. The younger man's eyes darkened. "Anyway," he said smoothly, bending once more to pick up the phone, breaking away from those penetrating eyes, "could you do me a favour?"

Momoshiro blinked. "Yes, sir."

"Well," Tachibana began, "my baby sister is coming over to pass something to me, and as you can see, I won't be able to leave the office for a while, so..."

Momoshiro blinked. Again.

_Tap, tap, tap. _

"Would you like to meet my sister, Momoshiro?"

As Momoshiro's jaw slackened with surprise and speechlessness, Tachibana felt bile rising up within him once more. But it wasn't his fault, he had to keep telling himself, over and over again as he gave Momoshiro his instructions. Over and over. It wasn't his fault, wasn't anybody's fault.

This was the reality after all, and when you're in the reality, it's every man for himself.

_Who are you kidding, really?_

_Shut up._

By the time he returned to the boardroom, his hands had stopped shaking and notices of unanswered messages had disappeared from the screen of the phone, now nestled securely and deeply in his pocket, sated for the time being.

**

_He remembered the whip and the clear blue eyes—one to bind him to the illusory, one to free him to reality. He couldn't remember much of his past besides the two; they stood out clear as day from the dark whirlpool of yesteryears. _

_The whip was the only constant in his childhood. He could barely remember the lessons; at some point in time of his education, learning lessons became peripheral and the pain became central to his entire being. He never regarded it as a loss of focus, merely a shift; his grandfather didn't really care as long as he behaved with decorum and upheld the family name in public. The lessons, the pain, they were the same to the old man, and they became the same for him. In accepting the pain, he came to realise, he was accepting—internalising—the lessons being taught. And that was fine with him. But sometimes, when lessons were ingrained too deeply in the mind, they began to take on a life of their own in the darkest corners of the mind, warping, twisting, growing… until they could no longer be recognised for what they once were anymore. Until they became monsters of one's own making. _

_Monsters of his own making, so much a part of him that he no longer knew if he made the monsters or if the monsters made him. _

_Meeting Fuji Syuusuke in college made him see the monster he had become. The arrogance in those blue, blue eyes, the wild abandon that disregarded all societal boundaries, fascinated him. Everything those eyes stood for, everything that those eyes scorned and mocked at, was everything that he lived for; how could it be possible for anyone to live such a vulnerable life? A life without restraint, a life without mastery of monsters, a life in the wide blue sky without the shelter of boundaries… how? How could anyone do it? How was it possible? _

_It was horror that ensued in the aftermath of his encounter with those blue eyes. He never knew he could destroy so utterly, that he could desire so strongly. And yet feel no remorse at the montrosity of his actions. Nothing was left within him anymore; everything that had been within him had become everything that he was. Had he wanted those blue eyes for himself, to fill the hollowness within his core? Had he wanted those blue eyes destroyed so he wouldn't see his own demented form within those clear condemning depths?_

_And this was the ultimate blow, this realisation that he wanted nothing. Desire, yes, surprisingly, but he had no wants. Was this normal? Was this right? Was this… human? _

… _Was he human?_

_He never found out; there didn't seem a need of rit anymore after Fuji disappeared from his life. And things went back to the way they were before. _

_Things went back to normal. _

**

The café had a surprisingly shady atmosphere about it, even though it was located right next to the Bank. Or maybe that was exactly why it was shady; in many ways the Intelligence were just as good at playing dirty as they were. Maybe even better, sometimes. But you had to have both good guys and bad guys in a story; they just happened to get the nicer name.

You couldn't have two bad guys at the same time, that's all… could you?

Settling down near the back of the café, Ann frowned a little as she caught the underlying stench of old sex and smoke and alcohol. It wasn't the oldest, dirtiest, most rundown places that were the worst; it was places like this which _almost_ succeeded in being completely harmless that disgusted her the most. The in-betweens. At least you knew what to expect when you went into dingy places; trying to pass off as something that you weren't was revoltingly repulsive.

_She hated herself sometimes, but she hated herself the most whenever she was with her brother; she felt so unclean and soiled when they were together, pretending to be someone she wasn't, something she could never be._

Two tables down, in the corner of the café, a young couple was making out. She set down her paper bag meticulously on the chair beside her, avoiding the suspicious stains on the seat, and looked deliberately away. Acts of copulation disgusted her. She focused instead on her milkshake and blocked out the noise of their coupling. Fingers fiddled with her phone. She wondered if she should let her brother know that she was already here—how did people normally do it anyway? Would he be irritated if she sent him a message now? But she wanted to. Even though she knew he'd be busy this hour of the day. Even though she knew she should be busy as well, at this time of the day—the countdown had begun, and fourteen days could pass in a blink of an eye—even then, she wanted to try a little harder for him. And for herself—or what could be salvaged of her _self_, from so long ago.

_Before it's too late. _

Sometimes she would dream about the fire. Sometimes she would dream about her brother dying. And sometimes she would dream about her brother dying and burning into nothing in the fire. And then she would wake up in cold sweat and realise that this was reality and not the world of dreams, and she'd laugh and cry and be thankful of the hateful reality that guarded her from utter, utter, insanity.

_Why did you save me? Why did you pick me out of the gutter in the first place if all you're going to do is to shove me into hell?_

Teeth chewed nervously on the straw as fingers ran frantically over the phone.

_Because there's no point in going into hell blindfolded; if you're going to be damned anyway, you might as well fall with your eyes open and know that it's something you've chosen. _

Fingers became clumsier as their movement became even more frantic.

_I didn't choose it. You made me..._

Shut up.

_No, baby. This is the reality; no one can make you do anything._

Shut up.

_Who are you kidding anyway? _

Clack.

Someone whistled beside her and she choked on her drink in surprise; she hadn't realised that she wasn't alone anymore.

"Is this tendency to drop your phones a family thing?" Ann looked up as her coughing fit subsided to find a roguish young man grinning down amicably at her, her phone in hand. Her defences slammed into place immediately. "You people have got to learn to take better care of your belongings. And yourselves, Tachibana's baby sister." His grin widened and she knew, instinctively, that he was dangerous to be around. He offered a hand then. "My name's Momoshiro, Momoshiro Takeshi, and I'm Tachibana-buchou's errand boy for the day. Nice to meet you."

_Momoshiro. Takeshi. _

The name struck a chord and Ann felt adrenaline rush through her body.

She knew he was assessing her, could feel it in the way he was now regarding her, having slipped into the opposite seat uninvited, could feel his cold analytical gaze under its facade of warm friendliness. He was the worst type of Intelligence agent, ever, and Ann resisted the impulse to bolt.

"The same to you, Momoshiro-kun," she said sweetly, taking the proffered hand and gave it a good shake. "I'm Ann."

"That's a lovely name, baby sister," he said kindly, his eyes twinkling with silent laughter, "and it's a fitting namesake, in my opinion. I like apricot flowers in bloom."

The comment jolted a part of her distant memory. It settled back into the darkness before she could reach it.

"Thank you," she replied, naturally, and was inwardly surprised to see the older man start a little. He cleared his throat just a tad awkwardly, breaking eye contact. Ann watched as he recovered his composure and wondered sheepishly if it was something that she had done. "Are you okay?" she asked innocently, feigning ignorance, "Do you need some water?"

He wet his lips discretely. "No, thank you, I'm fine," he answered, his voice smooth and composed again.

Ann smiled. "Well, in that case, please pass this to my brother for me. He left in a hurry this morning before I was done packing his lunch." Picking up the paper bag, she placed it in the middle of the table between them. "Cup cakes," she explained cheerily when she caught his curious look.

"I see. They smell really good, by the way," he said good-naturedly as he picked up the bag and got to his feet. "I have to go now, baby sister. It's a pleasure knowing you."

The sincerity of the comment made Ann return a genuine smile. "The feeling's mututal," she replid, getting to her feet as well. "Would you like to try my cup cakes next time?" she ventured, holding her breath and hoping that she wasn't mistaken about his actions.

Momoshiro blinked. "Yeah, well... erm." Colour rose in his face as his composure slipped once more. He cleared his throat in vain. "That'd be nice," he finally managed in a strangled voice. "But I really have to go, so excuse me."

Ann watched in amusement as the older man backed out of the cafe and disappeared among the milling crowd in the street. An unfamiliar sweetness lingered in the atmosphere long after he was gone, and Ann allowed herself to indulge in it for a while in wonder before sending out a message to Sengoku: _established first contac_t.

**

_The dark had been there ever since the day the house burned down, with him, always—it followed him everywhere, watching him. It never judged, not even when he shot the only person who came close to becoming a friend in the eye, it never condemned him with its silence or rebuked him, but it never offered comfort either, not even when he ran away from the barracks and was so soaked in the storm that he caught pneumonia and almost died. It just waited, passively, detachedly, but waiting, nonetheless. __What was it that he had to offer that kept the darkness staying on?—he wondered sometimes, in his younger days, but he stopped wondering after he pulled the trigger on that stormy summer afternoon full of rain and wind and silent suffering._

_The answer came to him in the form of seductions dripping with poison and illusions of love on another stormy summer afternoon full of rain and wind and silent yearning for redemption._

_There he was, in the car, and there she was, just coming out of school, prominent in the crowd because of her scarlet umbrella full of vibrancy like a poppy in the wild. And rain poured relentlessly from the heavens all around and between them. He imagined her smile, her hair fluttering about her face, her voice humming a tune their mother had taught them both that only she remembered, as he traced her lightfooted dance through the crowd, a streak of red on the veil of rain that separated himself from her._

_Her smile, her hair, her voice, which had to be there, all caught up in the vitality of her youth, which he couldn't see or touch or hear, here, in the car, on this side of the rain._

_To his immense surprise he suddenly realised that he missed her—missed her with his entire being—missed her like a fish out of water missed oxygen, thinking that it was something else that he had been missing all this while but realising that it was only a peripheral thing that stood between himself and her—she who was integral, she who was his sustenance._

_Want welled up within him unexpectedly and repulsively like rising bile as his eyes followed the line of red that scorched through the sombre greyness all around, dredged up from the deepest recesses of his core—he wanted her, selfishly, arrogantly, shamelessly. A primordial instinct that had no purpose, no explanation, just the rawness and baseness of his humanity._

So, what are you going to do, Tachibana?_—the devil whispered sultrily into his ear; the soft breath tickled._

_So, what was he going to do?_

_It was the most excruciating moment in his life, the minute that ensued; for the first time, the very first time since that fire, he had felt that he was still very much alive, that he still had the power to make decisions, and the will and the desire too. For so long now he had thought the fire had taken everything that was hot and living within him, taken them and hoarded them, and burnt them to dust to nothing in jealousy and hateful spite. But this unsatiable want that gripped him, this unknown and alien anguish that paralysed him…_

_It was exquisite._

_Icy blue eyes regarded him dispassionately from the side, assurance and confidence lining those haughty treacherous lips. _So?_—the final temptation, the final provocation, slithering, past the devil's lips and around his mind._

_Ok._

_It didn't sound like his voice at all, the gutteral sound that escaped his throat, a subterranean melody that rose with the newfound instinct to take hold and possess the young girl on the other side._

_And Atobe laughed, and his laughter was pure, without joy, without triumph, without malice, without emotion; a pure note that resonated with his own._

Mine.

Be mine.

_He knew then, without realising that he did, what it was that the dark was waiting for, for he chose to turn around to regard his own shadow then and felt its approval wash over him anew._

**

_Tell me, Tachibana, how does it feel to sell your sister's soul to the devil for a taste of your own which you had betrayed so long ago?_

**

A/N: Dear readers, I know it's been a long time since I wrote anything for this fic. It's been 2 years, and ideas have been fermenting in my head but somehow I lost touch with my writing skills and time stretched out into one single humongous writer's block. No kidding. Parts of this chapter have been written like a year ago, and parts written barely days before this. So, I sincerely apologise for all the hiccups in the flow of this chapter, and the shortness of it, as well as the drastic change in writing style. Now that I've entered university, things have gotten rather busy for me again, and I cannot promise that I will be able to update this as regularly as I would like to, but I promise that you will not have to wait another 2 years for the next chapter-- if you're still interested in following this monster after my major screw-up with this chapter, that is. xDDD

To the readers whose reviews I have not been replying, I apologise for my self-denial-- if I ignore the reviews then I can delude myself that no I'm not neglecting my readers-- and hope that this chapter makes up to you minimally.


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